


The Drift Between Us

by Dat_Fandom_Losertown



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: A dash of PTSD, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Human, But it's literally not a large part of the fic, Canon-Typical Violence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Friends to Lovers, Fuck it Everyone Swears, Hank Anderson Swears, I mean they're killin Kaijus so..., Implied/Referenced Character Death, Kaiju (Pacific Rim), M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Character Death, The Drift (Pacific Rim), There's also a dash of anxiety, but that one plays a slightly bigger part in this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2019-10-23 01:16:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 59,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17673638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dat_Fandom_Losertown/pseuds/Dat_Fandom_Losertown
Summary: When Connor was young, all he ever wanted was to become a real jaeger pilot and take down kaijus with his twin brother, Ritch. After several long years of rigorous training with their stepmother, Amanda, that dream finally becomes reality. Well, almost. Things are made difficult after the identical twins admit that they refuse to pilot together. Their choices are find other people to partner up with, find a way to work together, or quit before they become official jaeger pilots.There’s no way they’re working together, and they aren’t going to throw their entire lives away, so it’s option one, then.





	1. The First Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello to anyone reading this! A few weeks ago [@connorssock](http://connorssock.tumblr.com/) from Tumblr (this person is really cool and nice btw, would recommend) came up with a really cool Pacific Rim!AU and I just had to write it!! I got their permission to and now here we are! I plan for this to be a long, slow burn fic, and 8,000/9,000 words is the average amount of words I usually have for chapters. I’ve written fanfictions before, just not on this blog or for this fandom before! Whelp, I hope you enjoy the first chapter of The Drift Between Us!!

   The first attack happened long before Connor and Ritch were old enough to actually remember anything, but they know that that first kaiju is the reason their parents aren’t around anymore.

   They weren’t the only ones to lose parents and families, obviously, but they took their loss much better than the other kids in their orphanage. The fact everything happened so fast ad they were just _so young_ helps. If the twins hadn’t overheard their caregiver, as she told the kids to call her, telling someone what happened to their family, the they would have assumed they simply never had parents to begin with.

   Whenever they told anyone this (read: the seven people they’ve ever tried telling), they always get sad, pitying looks that are usually followed by a “I’m sorry” or something of the like. Connor and Ritch agreed that they hate being pitied for something the don’t remember and had no control over, which is why they stopped talking to the other people and kids altogether. Either they got pitied, or the other people expected to get pity from them, which didn’t make sense to the twins, even at the young age of seven. Pity can’t change or fix anything.

   Their antisocial behavior ended when a woman by the name of Amanda Stern interviews them for adoption one day.

   She asked questions like how they acted towards and around each other and others, what their favorite subjects were, and simple, normal questions like that. She didn’t once mention the parents they don’t remember, which in retrospect was normal of her, but at the time it was extremely refreshing, just like her lack of pity was too. Then she asked what they thought of jaeger pilots.

   Connor loved them, adored them, aspired to be like the new pilots Hank Anderson and Jeffrey Fowler one day. He’d always wanted to be the hero that saved the day so desperately. Connor couldn’t have worded it properly at the time, but he wanted the glory and the praise and the satisfaction of knowing he saved someone’s family, that he saved someone’s home. He even regularly pretended to be a jaeger pilot, ending the imaginary kaijus one by one and saving the day.

   Ritch had a slightly different reaction, but a similar answer. He admired jaeger pilots and found them to be very brave, but he wasn’t obsessed with them like Connor seemed to be. He didn’t really want to _be_ a jaeger pilot, but Ritch liked the idea of helping and saving people enough that if there was a way to make Connor’s dream come true, he’d go and fight alongside him.

   Then Amanda asked if they were serious about becoming jaeger pilots. She said she could make that happen easily, but it would take work and dedication. It would take years and years of training, but if they did well and listened to her, they could be real jaeger pilots when they grew up. All they had to do was go with her, and she would do it.

   As if Connor could ever turn that down, which means Ritch agreed to go along with it too, albeit less enthusiastically.

   She officially became their stepmother soon after that day and brought them to her nice, large house away from any coastline, and any immediate threat of the kaijus along with it. The twins started their training the next week after their arrival. They trained with each other everyday for years. After they mastered the “basics”, Amanda began pairing the brothers against each other in roughly evenly-matched battles of wit and brawn, even though the brothers weren’t exactly inclined to do so. Yet they had to, they had to because Connor’s dream of being a jaeger pilot had slowly become Ritch’s dream as well, and they had nothing else to work towards in life, so they put up it.

   It was during one of these matches Amanda forced them into that something between them finally cracked. It was just a splinter, but it was enough to start the collapse of everything. Amanda’s continuous meddling and manipulation didn’t help either, but they had to fight through it. They had nothing else beyond becoming jaeger pilots, and Amanda reminded them of that fact almost daily at that point. They couldn’t give up, and even if they could, their pride wouldn’t let them.

   Then _it_ happened.

   Connor and Ritch don’t talk about _it_ , even the mention of _it_ is enough to make them recoil. _It_ had ruined nearly everything for the brothers. Yet, not wanting to be thrown out like trash or abandoned like stray dogs, they continued to painfully push through Amanda’s games of both physical and mental kinds. They just had to make it another few months and they’d be well on their way to become official jaeger pilots. It was the only thing they’d ever be useful for at this point, as Amanda often reminded them.

   Amanda kept her promise. They listened to her every order, every suggestion, for years. They put everything they had and more on the line for this, just like she said they’d have to back in the orphanage, and now here they are. They survived, and they finally did it. The only problem now is that they don’t know what to do now that they’re actually here. For so long this day seemed like it would only arrive in dreams or fairy tales, so the weren’t able to somehow change the forms Amanda filled out for them to be pilots together. The brothers never figured out how they’re going to make it through boot camp, where they couldn’t find loopholes to avoid doing certain things.

   Finally getting loaded onto the large helicopter with thirteen other young adults, ones that still have that spark of life and energy in their eyes. Connor and Ritch silently glance at each other. All it takes is one, tiny nod for them to agree that they’ll figure some kind of plan out when they get there. For now, though, they get buckled in for the trip to the Pan Pacific Defense Corps base.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

   Almost all of the other cadets in the large helicopter have been complaining about their backs and necks aching for a long while now, and Connor is very close to telling them off for being children for complaining about something as menial as that. However, when he turns his head to do so, he just barely manages to catch sight of the edge of a huge, fort-like structure through the tiny window by his head. Reassured that their immature and meaningless complaints will very soon come to an end, Connor shuts his mouth and faces forward once more.

   Out of the corner of his eye he notices Ritch staring at him with an eyebrow raised, a silent question of what made him changed his mind (because of course Ritch knows he was about to “go off” on these people). Connor offers an answer in the form of gesturing towards the tiny, reinforced window between him and Ritch. Ritch silently looks out, leans back a bit in attempts to see what Connor saw, then smirks. He, too, straightens and relaxes in his chair, his slight smile never quite leaving his face.

   Connor assumes that Ritch is just as excited as he is to sleep in a real bed tonight. It’s been nearly a week, with traveling and layovers and such, since they’ve slept somewhere that wasn’t an uncomfortable chair or the ground. The other cadets grumbled about them not getting any real beds while the staff had some the entire time, as well, which is why Connor was almost at his wit’s end just a few seconds ago. If he’s being honest, he still is.

   Their commander finally announces that they’re preparing to land at the PPDC and to gather what little was allowed to remain unpacked for entertainment. The chattering of the others annoys the twins, who are very used to the silence of their old home, but it irritates Connor especially, seeing as he is more introverted and socially awkward than Ritch is, and there has already been a week of non-stop people and talking so far. Connor’s ready to spend some time alone in peace.

   He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to find a partner. Not if they’re all going to continue being this obnoxious and Connor just as socially inept. Ritch must see something portrayed on his face, because he leans over as much as he can with his harness being the way and speaks up for only the second time during this entire flight.

   “They’re still young, let them be children a little longer. I’m sure we would have liked a little more time as well.” Ritch, ever the patient one.

   Connor sighs defeatedly, “I know we would’ve, but they’ve been talking constantly since we met at the airport earlier this week. Shouldn’t they have run out of topics to discuss?” Ritch takes a breath to say something, but Connor waves him off, “Yeah yeah, I know. People talk about any and everything when they get along and they’re excited. And that’s okay, I’ve just been wanting some peace and quiet, and they only got louder.”

   Ritch nods sympathetically, “Yeah. We’re almost out of here though.” Connor nods back. Ritch hesitates twice before continuing, “Are _you_ excited? This is your childhood dream coming true right now and you seem bored.”

   “This is only the boot camp. We could still get kicked out.”

   “Do you honestly believe that can happen?” Ritch asks almost sarcastically, a slight smile tugging at his lips.

   “No. But you never know. And to answer your question, I don’t think it’s hit me yet that I’m actually here. Ask me again in a day or two.”

   Ritch huffs a laugh, _an actual, genuinely amused laugh_ , “Yeah, same here.”

   That was probably one of the most normal and pleasant conversations they’ve had in at least over a year. It was almost refreshing, if not awkward. Luckily, Connor is saved from analyzing their conversation by the helicopter landing at last. The doors open and all of the young adults hastily unbuckle, grab their duffle bags of clothes and supplies, then step out onto the landing pad. It’s a nice, clear day, and all of the trainees group together by the helicopter to listen to what this woman with braided blonde hair– obviously their guide for now– has to say. Well, more like yell over the surrounding machinery and wind.

   “So, Welcome to the Pacific Ocean Defense base. My name is Chloe and I’ll be giving you a brief tour of the place so you know how to get around without being run over or squashed. Got it?” The group nods in unison, a few saying “Yes ma’am.” She smiles, “Good. Follow close behind me! Don’t want you getting lost on your first day, do we?” She sharply turns around, not looking back or waiting for the group to follow.

    Connor and Ritch glance at each other quickly before following close behind Chloe, the rest of the group close behind them. As they walk up to the large, metal doors, they expect to see some kind of common area place behind them, but instead they reveal a large, very heavy-duty elevator. The elevator is plenty large enough to fit the lot of them plus three, huge, glass containers and another person, who is fussing over the containers of… _are those kaiju parts?_

   “Excuse me, sir,” Connor tries grabbing the man’s attention, too intrigued to keep his mouth shut.

   The pale man shoots up from what he was doing and looks at the crowd, trying to figure out if he was called and, if so, by whom. Connor asks his question, confident that he’ll get at least a simple “yes or no” back from him now.

   “I hope you’re not bothered by my asking, but are those pieces of kaiju?” Connor tilts his head curiously, knowing he usually doesn’t portray emotions well and wanting to show the man he is genuinely interested in his answer.

   The man brightens up immediately, yet subtly, “Yes, yes they are.” He takes off his gloves and fixes the small bun on the back of his head before reaching out a hand to Connor politely. “I’m Elijah Kamski, and I’m the head scientist of the Research department.”

   Connor takes his hand firmly and shakes it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Kamski.” Connor hears someone scoff from the other side of the otherwise near silent elevator, followed a sharp “shh!”.

   The scientist releases from the handshake and drops his hand. “Please, Mr. Kamski will do, if you must. I never actually got a Doctorate’s degree, I’m just someone who’s interested in kaijus and happened to get lucky.”

   “It was hardly luck, Elijah.” Chloe jumps in.

   “Ah, well, thank you Chloe. I’m glad you think that.”

   “Are these parts still functioning? Or just being preserved?” Connor brings the attention back to where it was originally.

   Mr. Kamski sighs heavily, “Just preserved, I’m afraid. We weren’t able to get to this kaiju in time to save any of its parts. But we do have some... _somewhat_ , functioning specimens down in the lab.”

   Someone in the group, a man with darker skin and a shaved head, speaks up next.

   “Why would we want to keep chunks of kaiju alive? Wouldn’t it be better that they stay dead?”

   The blonde man standing next to him answers, “I imagine if they can keep pieces functional long enough to figure out any more weaknesses, it could make our jobs in the future easier, Markus. It’s smart, really.”

   Mr. Kamski practically glows, “You’re absolutely right– uh, what’s your name?” He reaches his hand out to the blonde.

   “Simon, sir.” He shakes Mr. Kamski’s hand once before letting go.

   “Simon.” He turns to Connor, “And I never got yours?”

   “Connor.”

   “These are the new possible recruits for the new jaegers that are being built.” Chloe informs.

   “That explains why I haven’t seen you guys around.”

   He chuckles in a way that makes it seem like he was trying to make it sound awkward, rather than it being a genuinely awkward laugh. Maybe that’s just Connor over analyzing things again. He can’t really help it, old habits die hard.

   However, Connor definitely isn’t the only one to notice how the elevator is starting to slow down to their floor. Mr. Kamski puts his gloves back on and stands up straighter again from where he was leaning on the handles to the cart holding one of the large, fluid-filled canister-type thing. Connor isn’t exactly sure what the containers are called, or what they’re actually made of. Mr. Kamski interrupts his thoughts.

   “Well, normally newcomers aren’t allowed in the lab, but if one of you guys happen to run into me and we’ve both got time, I wouldn’t have a problem showing you around.” His eyes suddenly have a curious, almost pompous glint to them, and his smile shifts minutely with them (though, Connor doubts anyone else notices this. _Stupid habits_ ). “It’s always... nice, to find others who are interested in the kind of work I do,” he tilts his head ever-so-slightly, “So don’t be afraid to stop by.”

   “I’ll definitely consider it, Mr. Kamski. Thank you.” Connor, ever the people pleaser, tells the man as the elevator doors open.

   Most of the group politely waves goodbye to Mr. Kamski as they collectively step into the reinforced hall. They’re wide enough to comfortably fit vehicles through (they have to move heavy stuff somehow) and the ceilings are high with pipes running up and down along them. Everywhere he looks is covered in sturdy metal, obviously reinforced and prepared in case a kaiju gets way too close for comfort.

   They round a corner, and this is when Connor realizes that Chloe has been talking. Yet here he is, still not listening because he’s internally freaking out and having a painfully silent fanboy moment. Someone wheeling a large cart passes by and Connor can’t stop himself from briefly studying the foreign materials on it with a sense of awe.

   Connor has been waiting for this moment since he was a child. He’s looked up pictures that were leaked on the internet, he studied the backgrounds of any interviews held here, he watched every documentary he could find on jaegers. For while, it was the only thing that kept him going, just the sheer strength and size of these machines that are so huge and powerful that one person alone couldn’t control it. He thought he wouldn’t be as shocked as the others since he has exposed himself to these battle machines however he could so often growing up, but it was very much the opposite in reality.

   He wasn’t even listening to Chloe as she explained what this area was and little facts about the jaegers. He can already see Crimson Typhoon, piloted by Ms. Chen, her newer partner, and whoever else is available and compatible with them– if he remembers her interview correctly– and it uses a triple arm technique. Apparently it was extremely difficult to get it working and safe enough for pilots to use. To his knowledge, there’s no other jaeger that uses more than two pilots anymore. The next one over is Cherno Alpha. It’s the last mark one jaeger, and is currently the oldest and heaviest jaeger this base has, but its pilots Mr. Miller and Mr. Wilson still pack one hell of a fight in it.

   The group starts turning to go down another hallway, and Connor follows automatically, shamelessly looking at the the other jaegers down the enormous warehouse. He only recognizes one more of them, Striker Eureka, the only mark five jaeger in existence. All he knows is that it was decommissioned a day before its official release, but despite how much he searched for _why_ it was shut down, he remains clueless to all else.

   He can’t wait to see what new technology and designs the architects and construction teams have put together for the possible future pilots. Their teams should be getting mark six and seven jaegers, which seems almost surreal to Connor, that he’s actually here and they’re going to get new and improved jaegers. He wonders if the other jaegers he can see on the other end of the enormous room are the ones they’ll be able to use if they pass training.

   The group slows down and he realizes that he wasn’t listening to Chloe _again_ when she calls his name. He cringes minutely, shameful that he still couldn’t force his mind away from the giant machines, then morphs his face into something he knows is almost unreadable and faces the blonde guide.

   “Yes ma’am?”

   “You really that interested in the jaegers?”

   Connor looks away as he answers, “Yes ma’am. Have been since I was a kid.”

   She pauses at that, putting in another code to another door.

   “Then you’d be able to repeat the guidelines that I just listed? If you’re familiar with all this already,” she gestures to the vast area around them.

   As a matter of fact, Connor feels like he probably could.

   “May I try?” She waves him on silently, almost sarcastically it seems. “Watch where you’re going at all times, because there are a lot of heavy equipment and people moving about. Don’t meander or wander idly because people have jobs to do and are trying to get places. Don’t bother the pilots unless absolutely necessary because that’s just common courtesy, same goes for workers of any kind. Clear out quickly if a jaeger is being moved to deploy. That’s all I can remember, ma’am.”

   She nods thoughtfully, “If you were listening, you would have also known to just call me Chloe. Ma’am and Miss makes me feel old.”

  _Oh. She doesn’t seem to be entirely mad._

   “Yes, m– er– Chloe”

   She chuckles as she walks through the now open door, and others snicker along. It’s only his first day here and he’s already made a fool of himself. Training is not going to go at all like how he was expecting and hoping. Ritch must see how he deflated because he nudges Connor and leans over to whisper in his direction.

   “I’ll be struggling to call her just Chloe for a while myself.” He straightens up. “Good to know I won’t be alone in this particular endeavor.”

   “Yea.”

   The group follows Mi– Chloe, just Chloe, down some hallways and around some turns and bends. She talks about the specifics of what they do here, things that aren’t common knowledge for normal people who want to be trainees, but knowledge that has been drilled into Ritch’s and Connor’s heads over the past several years. She explains who’s in charge, the ranking system, the different departments and how they help with the battle against the kaijus, tips on remembering how to get to where they need to be. It’s rather dull, but Connor easily pays attention now, giving only a small piece of his awareness to his surroundings.

   Sneakily looking to his left, Connor sees that Ritch is much less twitchy than he is. It’s completely expected, seeing as Connor has always had a stronger need to know his surroundings well, and the fact that what’s happening now has been in Connor’s dreams almost all along, while Ritch was just along for the ride for the larger part of it. Yet, that doesn’t help Connor feel sane or like a normal part of the group. He’s long since used to being the outcast by now, but he was hoping that he would get along with some people, since everyone here has a great interest in being a jaeger pilot (what exactly are they doing here if they don’t?).

   They take one last left turn and are met with what looks like a training room. Chloe has all fifteen of them line up in a neat row along the side wall, rather than muddled up against the back of the room. She then asks the people who did not come with a partner to take a step forward. Connor moves only his eyes to glance at Ritch, and catches Ritch doing the same. Without any “telepathic communication”, as Amanda and any others who knew them called it, Ritch takes a confident step forward, and Connor quickly follows. It dully hurts Connor that Ritch didn’t even seem to think before taking a step, but it’s not like Connor was enthusiastic to try to work with him. It just feels like there’s really no chance in mending their damaged bonds now.

   Connor can feel the confused gazes on his back, and he understands why. It’s obvious they came as a pair, if the fact they haven’t tried to socialize with the others as much as sticking to each other didn’t give it away already– even if it was just because they were both uncomfortable around strangers– then it’s their matching faces and builds. The only way to tell the difference between him and Ritch is the fact Connor prefers to wear grey and darker colors, since it’s harder to get messy and he believes it compliments his figure, while Ritch prefers white and lighter colors because he claims it goes well with his paler skin and it, admittedly, looks sophisticated on him in a way that Connor could never pull off.

   Connor is pulled out of his head once again ( _how many times am I going to zone out today?_ ) by the sounds of footsteps entering the room. _The_ Marshal Jeffrey Fowler himself is walking into the room with an assistant of some kind. She’s holding a clipboard and plenty of relatively thin files. Connor wouldn’t be surprised if each one of those folders held every single thing known about someone around him. He doesn’t exactly want to know what his says, since all of the information on him and Ritch in there would’ve been given by Amanda or taken through spying.

   Marshal Fowler isn’t quite how Connor imagined him to be, which is to be expected for any type of celebrity really– if he counts as a celebrity at all. While Connor remembers him being kind and open and definitely had less of a scowl on his face, Marshal Fowler seems to be sharp edges and angles and Connor can already tell that he won’t hesitate to put people in their places immediately, no matter how new or aged the person is. Connor isn’t exactly sure how he feels about this, but he’ll try his best to not step on his toes and avoid being a suck up by accident (both of which happen more often than one would think).

   The Marshal stops in front of the two rows of trainees and seems to scrutinize each person and pair. He suddenly clears his throat loudly, as if gathering attention back to himself even though no one was distracted in the first place. At least, Connor doesn’t know why anyone would become distracted in this scenario.

   “Alright. Let’s get this done and over with. Miss Arlen?”

   The assistant woman takes a step forward upon hearing her name. Her dark hair is tied back in a neat, short ponytail and her lovely dress compliments her dark skin and figure well. She looks like a respectable, well-put-together woman, someone Connor could probably trust to send a message to Marshal Fowler in the event of an emergency or something of the like.

   “I’m going to call out your names so if you prefer to go by a separate name, you can tell me now and I can write it down in your file for future reference,” she starts with a smooth voice, “Let’s start with the pairs then, shall we? Markus and Simon Manfred?”

   The two guys who were talking to Mr. Kamski earlier in the elevator call out.

   “Present!” “Here.”

   “Lily and Maveric Hallowitt?” Those two are obviously siblings with how similar their blonde hair and blue eyes are.

   “Here!” “Here.”

   “Joshua Manfred and North Adams?”

   “Present.” North says as the other informs Ms. Arlen that he prefers to be called Josh.

   Ms. Arlen nods and “alright” and writes something down in one of the files quickly, then takes a breath to call out the next group. However, Marshal Fowler interrupts her from doing so with a loud hum.

   “We have a lot of Manfreds in this room. You all siblings?”

   “Not quite, sir,” Josh answers respectfully.

   Markus continues, “Josh is my brother, but Simon is my husband, sir.”

   The marshal nods and makes a noise of interest at that. “How long have you two been together?”

   Simon answers this time, “We’ve known each other since we were both children, but we married a few months ago.”

   “Well, congratulations. Hope this is the kind of honeymoon you wanted.” His face becomes stone-like again. “Who’s our next group?”

   “Connor and Ritchie Stern?”

   “Present, but I’d like to be called ‘Ritch’ please,” Ms. Arlen nods and scribbles in his file, and Ritch continues. “And I mean no disrespect respect when I say this, but we will not be piloting as a pair, despite what our stepmother has signed us up for, sir and ma’am.”

   Marshal Fowler properly glowers at them now. “Why did you let someone other than you make your life decisions? Huh? ‘Cause I have a feeling you’re just in a little spat right now and are making rash decisions.”

   “Sir, he’s telling the truth,” Connor pleads, “We had no intention to work as a pair from the start, but we were… forcefully instructed to sign up as a pair by our guardian.”

   “So you lied on the paperwork?”

   _This is going bad, we need to just give up._

   “Not exactly, sir. We are just uncomfortable–”

   “Then you two can stay put just the way you are until further notice or else there will be consequences. Got it?”

   Connor drops his head immediately, but Ritch remains tall and proud.

   “Yes sir.” the twins echo at the same time.

   “Good. Miss Arlen, continue.”

   “Yes sir.”

   She goes on to call out the last pair, Kelly Stradford and Leon Arsonilla. Then the singles are called out one by one. Traci, Alex, Melanie, Jeremy, and Rico. She scribbles anything that needs to be written down on her notepad and in the appropriate file, then nods and takes a step back. Marshal Fowler takes this as his cue to step back into front and center to address the group.

   “As you may have already figured out, this training is extremely hard, and not many people graduate from this stage. Most drop out because this was tougher to get through than they thought, while some are required to stop because their bodies and minds couldn’t handle the pressure that’s going to be on you starting tomorrow. Take this as your warning now. If some of you are iffy now–” he pointedly looks in the twins’ direction “–then passing training will be impossible for you.”

   He turns his gaze to the class as a whole and starts slowly pacing again, “More than half of you won’t make it through training for one reason or another, so know that I have no real expectations for you lot. Do what you’re gonna do. Leave if you’re gonna leave. I don’t want to have to waste my time and resources on someone who knows they aren’t planning to stay to the end.” He stops front and center again, hands behind his back and looking almost bored. “Chloe is going to show you to your bunkers. You all have assigned rooms, pairs will share a room, singles will have a half-room or will be instructed to share. Dismissed.” He turns and starts walking out of the room.

   Before the marshal has even reached the door, Chloe is herding and leading the group of young adults out. She shows them how to get to their hallway, telling them when the different training sessions, meals, and free time will start and for the next few weeks so they aren’t late. As they turn into the hallway where all of the pilots stay, Chloe hands each person a small, folded paper with their names on it. Connor opens his up to find his room number and a four digit passcode. Once she finishes handing all of the slips of paper out, she wishes the group good luck and other pleasantries then leaves them behind.

   Everyone except Connor starts the hunt for their bunkers. He instead takes his time to finally get a good look at the place, now that he isn’t being rushed somewhere like a sheep in a traveling herd. The hallway here looks exactly the same as the first hallway they entered, just less busy and noisy. Connor starts stepping backwards towards where the others headed off to and notices that his boots don’t clang against the ground like he expected. He turns around to properly follow after the group, who are long gone, now, and finds Ritch waiting for him with his arms impatiently crossed.

   “Almost done staring at the pipes?” he lifts his eyebrow grumpily.

   “Yes. Sorry.”

   Ritch lets out a harsh “hmph” with a scowl and spins around and starts walking without waiting for Connor. Connor hurries after his brother, not so much worried about losing him, but worried that if he doesn’t stick near him, he’ll get distracted again lose his sense of time.

   The quickly and easily find their room, and Connor puts in in the pin then Ritch opens the heavy, metal door. The space inside is kind of cramped. There’s more room in here than Connor expected, but it’s still small. Against the wall to the left are bunk beds, and against the wall directly in front of the duo are plenty of empty shelves for whatever they’ll need or want to hold. They step inside and Connor notices a small bathroom to the right and locker-like closets against the same wall the door is on. The center of the room is just enough open space to maybe fit a chair or two and still have enough room to shuffle around it, but Connor can’t see himself or Ritch wanting chairs in here, so it shouldn’t be of his concern.

   Ritch wastes no time in unpacking his things into one of the locker-closets. Connor follows his lead and starts putting some their bathroom supplies away. By the time fifteen minutes have passed, Connor is standing on a chair in his “comfy clothes” to position all of his kaiju and jaeger figurines o the very top shelf, and Ritch is laying down on the bottom bunk (“Good luck getting up there when you’re exhausted beyond belief” he said when Connor claimed the top bunk) with a book open. All of their books are on the second to top shelf, leaving the bottom two completely open and clean for whatever they’re gonna need in the near future.

   Connor finishes messing with his figurines and hops down from the chair, pushing it in behind him as he makes his way to bed. He’s in the process of climbing up onto it (a difficult task only because the bed is smaller than a twin and there’s no obvious ladder) when someone knocks on the door. Ritch doesn’t flinch or blink, just continues laying in bed with his face in his historical fiction book.

   “Fine then, guess I’ll get it.” Connor indignantly grumbles, hopping back down to the ground.

   “You’re the one who’s already up.” Ritch sounds bored with the conversation.

   With an angry sigh, Connor skips looking through the peeper hole and just opens the door. Markus, Simon, Josh, and North are all standing with polite smiles. Connor gives one back, suddenly aware that he looked irritated when he answered their knocks.

   “Hey guys, what brings you here?”

   “Hi Connor,” Markus greets pleasantly, “We were wondering if you would like to join us to the cafeteria?”

   “Dinner isn’t starting for another thirty minutes. What do you guys plan to do?” Ritch is suddenly standing right behind Connor.

   “ _Ritch._ ” Connor hisses.

   This is the first time he’s been asked to do something with the others, and, yes they were annoying the shit out of him earlier, they aren’t bad people. Just very… lively, friendly. Connor doesn’t want to lose this chance on _not_ being the outcast for once in his life. Stupid Connor and his stupid, puppy-like eagerness to please people and and to be liked.

   “I’m just saying, Connor. Besides weren’t you complaining–”

   “Sure guys! I’ll come along!” Connor interrupts Ritch before he can finish that sentence. It earns him a glare from Ritch. “Just let me get some real clothes and shoes on! I’ll be just a moment.”

   He rushes to shut the door, afraid that Ritch will let something else spill that could ruin his chances of getting along with the others. He hastily pulls off his clothes, then a t-shirt on before Ritch says anything from where he’s standing by the door, very annoyed.

   “You’ve been annoyed with them all day.”

   “That doesn’t mean they’re bad people.”

   “You just want everyone to like you.”

   “Is there a problem with that?” Connor pauses in putting his second sock on.

   “There can be.”

   Connor groans and puts the sock on, the starts putting his left boot on.

   “Don’t give me that, Connor. We both know how you are with new people. You let yourself be used and don’t know when to the draw lines! Then you wonder why people use or don’t like you!”

   Connor starts strapping his belt on with practiced precision, “I don’t see how that’s your any of your concern, Ritch.”

   “We are partners.” Connor reaches for the door, but Ritch grabs his wrist. “You make a fool of yourself, you make a fool out of both of us. Amanda isn’t here to fix things, this time, and she certainly can’t get us back in here if we get ourselves kicked out because of you.” He lets go. “This is _your_ dream career, remember that.” He turns and plops himself on the bed, presumably picking up his book too. Connor can’t know for sure because he never looks behind as he opens the door again.

   “Sorry for the wait guys,” Connor smiles and pulls the door shut. “Ritch just had some… concerns. But everything’s okay now. By the way, what _are_ we doing until dinner?”

   “We’re just going to stroll around, get a feel of the place.” Josh smiles politely.

   “Ah.”

   “Do you wear anything other than that uniform?” The girl– North– asks.

   “Uh...”

   Connor freezes and looks down at himself, with his dark grey t-shirt tucked into his cargo pants, his pants held up with a belt and tucked into his boots. It’s the same outfit he’s been wearing nearly every day for the past decade, now. He looks back up at the others and notices their nicer shirts and jeans with simple tennis shoes. Hell, North is wearing leggings and _sandals_. Connor doesn’t think he’s ever worn sandals before in his life. They ruin posture, foot structure, and leg and hip joints if worn too often, and provide no coverage for people’s feet, so he hasn’t ever thought about wearing them. Yet, here he is, thinking about how it’s kind of strange that he hasn’t now that he really can’t wear them anymore.

   “North–” Josh starts to reprimand, but Connor doesn’t let him finish.

   “I guess not. I haven’t really thought about it until now I guess, but I haven’t really worn other types of clothing in the past several years.” Connor notes the genuine, innocent curiosity in his voice, and guesses North does too, because she sounds sincere in her next question.

   “Several years? You’ve just been wearing boots and cargo pants everywhere for _years_?”

   Connor turns his head to North, “Yes, unless there was a social gathering we– Ritch and I, I mean– were required to attend.” He faces forward again, “In those cases we usually wore suits.”

   Out of the corner of his eye, Connor can see Markus lean forward to try to make eye contact with him, so he turns his head again.

   “Were these, ‘social gatherings’, a normal occurrence for you growing up?”

   “Kind of?”

   “Kind of?” Simon repeats as a question of “ _what do you mean?_ ”

   “Well, Amanda would have parties and gathering often enough, but we usually weren’t allowed to attend since there was wine involved, so we stayed outside and trained a bit longer.”

   “Training before you were legally allowed to have alcohol? Exactly how old are you?” Josh inquires.

   “I’ll be turning 23 in a couple of weeks.”

   North’s eyes widen, “Woah, what the hell? You’re so young!”

   “Am I? How old are all of you?”

   Markus answers, “I’m 28, Simon’s 27, Josh and North are both 26.”

   “I’m turning 27 in two and a half months!” Josh proudly declares.

   Wow, Connor and Ritch really _are_ young, or maybe they're just older?

   “You guys are very close in age.”

   “Yea,” Simon nods, “I was in the same elementary class as Markus, and Josh was in the same class as North, and Markus and Josh are brothers so we all met up.”

   “Best friends ever since.” Markus smiles.

   “How long have you been training for, then?” North jumps into the conversation expectantly.

   Connor doesn’t really want to think about this, let alone talk about it with strangers who have been annoying him all week. It’s not their fault, and they’re really nice people, Connor just isn’t used to being around so many others for such an extended time.

   “Uh, well... How long have _you guys_ been training?”

   “For about a year.” Markus answers easily.

   _Oh_.

   Something must show on his face because Simon asks how long he’s been training again, except this time he asks it in a way seems more sympathetic and concerned. His tone catches Connor completely off guard. He doesn’t know what to do when people start treating him like more than some kind of dog or machine that’s eager to please, but thankfully those moments were few and far between before he got here. Now, it’s only been a week that he’s seen these strangers, and he hasn’t even talked with them properly before now, but they seem to already regard him as one of their acquaintances.

   This is what Ritch meant when he told Connor to watch himself.

   Well, now Connor can’t exactly dodge the question any further, can he? Since Simon seems so genuinely interested. That, and there’s been a few, solid seconds of silence since the question was asked. He’d seem like an extreme freak to not answer such a simple question that he should’ve just answered before.

   “Uh–”

   _Was all of those years of training and forcing ourselves on really for nothing? Was that Amanda’s deranged way of entertainment all this time? What if they’re the ones that are being too lax and won’t make it through because of that? But if we were meant to do heavy training before now, why would we have these weeks of official “training” on top of that? Did Ritch and I really have to push ourselves so hard? Did I really need to do_ that _to Ritch? What if–_

   “Connor?” Markus’ voice interrupts his anxiety.

   _Stop it Connor! You’re starting to look like a freak! Don’t you want allies? Maybe even_ friends _?_

   “I think it’s been just over ten years now?”

   “Ten years?!” all four of them blurt out with varying levels of concern and bewilderment.

   _Just stop talking Connor, you stupid fucking idiot! You need to give normal responses!_ **_Normal!_ **

   “Yeah, it might’ve been a bit overkill, now that I think about it. But there’s no changing the past, right?” Connor sounds so awkward, but he doesn’t know how to make it stop. “Guess that’s just life.”

   “You were twelve when you started training?”

   “Uh– No. I– I- _We_ were closer to ten? But I’m– We’re not bothered by it–”

   “Did you even get a childhood? Or was that spent–”

   “ _North_.” Josh swats her arm.

   “ _What?_ ”

   “I’m sorry about her,” Markus apologizes, “She can be a bit abrasive sometimes.”

   Connor wrings his hands together, “That’s alright. Isn’t everyone at times?”

   He really should've listened to Ritch back in their bunker.

   “I mean, I guess, but not as often as North.”

   “Hey!”

   Their playful bickering continues as they wander the halls, and they must pick up on Connor’s discomfort from before, because they don’t ask him any questions anymore. There are times where he feels like he is intruding on their time together, kind of like the fifth wheel, but that’s how it always is when a group of friends try to accept a new member, right? that, and Connor also isn’t super into being a part of large groups, anyway (anything larger than three people is a large group for him, though, so...).

   “Hey there, trainees!” a woman with tanned skin and black hair calls out– jaeger pilot Tina Chen, if Connor remembers correctly (which he knows he does), “You’re heading to the cafeteria, yea?”

   “Yes ma’am.” Simon answers respectfully.

   “Just Tina will do. I’m on my way there myself. I can show you which tables have been claimed by who when we get there,” she smiles nicely, “C’mon. Let’s go get some grub!”

   They make it to the food court area, and Tina shows them which tables they should be welcome to sit at, and which ones they should avoid at least for now. There’s one table she points out that’s right next to the door that’s completely empty and one table towards the back of the room that she says are off limits. When Markus asks why, she explains that she and her little group sit there, and two people in her friend group are very easily agitated, so it’d be better for them to just stay away. She goes on to say that the table by the door is just one that _no one_ wants to sit at. There’s a kind of warning in the way she says it, but Connor elects to ignore it.

   That specific table sounds like the perfect place to take a well-needed break from people and their invasive questions.

   So Connor gets his food, and silently thanks whatever higher power there may or may not be when the group of four move to sit at a table in the center of the room without asking Connor if he wants to join them or where he’s going, if not with them still. He sits down on the farthest end of the barren table, noticing how clean it looks compared to the other tables. Connor idly wonders if it’s cursed or something. Even if it was, Connor would still sit here, considering he’s pretty sure he’s already been cursed to some degree–

   “Who the fuck are you?”

   Connor whips his head to the source of the gruff voice and is met with _the_ Hank Anderson. Sure, his hair is grey and shoulder length rather than the neatly trimmed blonde it was before, and he’s definitely gained quite a few pounds, but there’s no mistaking that this is the person who inspired Connor to become a jaeger pilot those years ago. Which means this is the same Hank Anderson that supposedly retired due to unknown reasons. Why would he still be here if he isn’t a pilot anymore?

   “My name is Connor and I’m a new trainee–”

   “Yea yea, whatever, I don’t actually care. What I do care about is why the fuck you’re hanging around my table. You don’t look like you need anythin’.” The older man crosses his arms angrily, the smell of alcohol wafts from him, and Connor can guess that it’s not the expensive, celebratory kind.

   Connor doesn’t know what happened to make him slip like this during the past several years– because he’s pretty damn sure that the Hank Anderson from ten years ago was not this bitter and vulgar– but he has a pressing feeling that it’s probably the same reason he decided to retire from being a pilot. And while Connor wants to know what happened, he is also personally familiar with how to handle events that make people crash and burn. Therefore, Connor doesn’t mention knowing or recognizing him, and makes a mental note to never ask him personal questions.

   Connor lowers his head just a bit, but doesn’t break eye contact with Mr. Anderson. It’s the perfect picture of being genuinely guilty and apologetic, according to Amanda’s and Ritch’s reactions to this posture. Anything to let him know that Connor really didn’t mean to intrude on his personal time.

   “I wanted a break from all of the people and was told that this table was always empty and off limits.” Connor shifts, already preparing himself to grab his tray and at in the hallway or something. He’d prefer that embarrassment than have to deal with anymore people today.

   Mr. Anderson sighs heavily, then throws up his arms as a sign of “fuck it”. “Fuckin’ hell. Can’t deny a man some fuckin’ peace and quiet now can I?” He harshly points at Connor as he continues, “Just don’t think you can start botherin’ me or some shit just ‘cause I let you sit here today, got it newbie?”

   “Yes sir.”

   “And knock it off with the ‘sir’ already. You aren’t a child and I ain’t your boss.”

   Before Connor can even reply, the very-likely-drunk man stumbles off to the line for food. Connor catches some stranger’s eye from the table behind him and quickly turns to sit properly on the bench. Unlike before, Connor keeps his head and eyes down and doesn’t look up from his plate, despite the stares he can feel dragging along his back. This was the exact opposite of what he wanted by sitting at this table. He didn’t know what he expected, though– actually, he did.

   He expected that because people appeared to be completely ignoring the table itself, he was hoping he would be ignored along with it, but that is absolutely not the case. It’s only his first day here and yet he’s gotten himself on bad terms with the marshal, made multiple people think he’s some kind of pity-fest freak, and probably already managed to get himself a reputation of sitting at Hank Anderson’s table even though it’s very clear that no one was welcome. He’s probably going to be labeled as the “problem child”– or would it be “problem man”?– by the end of tomorrow if he hasn’t already, and anything he does is automatically applied to Ritch as well, considering they have the same face.

   Ritch is going to be _pissed_.

   “Would you stop with the fork thing, kid?” Mr Anderson’s voice snaps, “Fuck’s sake.”

   “I’m sorry.” Connor responds automatically upon hearing Mr. Anderson’s irritation. He isn’t even sure when he returned or how long they’ve been sitting there in silence.

   Connor has learned over the years that it’s always best to apologize first. It makes people easier to talk and negotiate with. That, and rarely ever just say “sorry” as that can too easily be mistaken for sarcasm or ingenuinity, but also don’t use the phrase “I’m sorry” too often, or people will come to believe that has always been ingenuine. “I’m sorry”, “I apologize”, “My bad”, and “Forgive me” are the three basic ones– equivalent of the root of a word, one could say– and if it’s anything more serious, Connor uses “I sincerely apologise”, “I’m very sorry”, “I am _so_ very sorry”, “Please forgive me”, “It’s my fault”, or a combination or repetition of any of these phrases.

   Stupid Connor and his stupid habits.

   Connor stops twirling the fork around his fingers only a moment after apologizing, only just now realizing what he was doing. Once he’s become aware of that, he also becomes aware of the fact that he is bouncing his leg at a rather high speed, and quickly neutralizes that as well. He refocuses on the real world and has a third realization, this one being that he hasn’t touched his food since Mr. Anderson confronted him earlier. Connor takes one more bite, but doesn’t try to force any more down. Amanda isn’t around and neither is Ritch (not that he’d really do anything), so surely he can leave food on his plate, right?

   Wrong.

   With a cringe, Connor forces himself to take another bite and chews slowly, as if it will simply disappear in his mouth if he chews long enough.

   “What the fuck’s got you in a twist?” the familiar gruff voice asks from the other end of the table. Connor notes that he sounds somewhat annoyed, if not a tad curious.

   Connor can fix that, probably. He straightens his posture and gets ready to get up and leave, despite there still being food on his plate.

   “Nothing that should bother me, if I’m to be a jaeger pilot.” Connor makes to get up and bid the older man farewell when said man speaks up suddenly.

   “What do you mean, ‘nothing that should bother a jaeger pilot’?”

   A quick glance over at him shows that Hank has his eyebrows furrowed and his arms crossed in a defensive manner. Why does everything Connor tries to do to placate people here always backfire? Is something wrong with him? Well, more wrong than he already knows, anyway?

   “I meant no offense or harm by that. It’s just been a long week for me even though it would be tame for a real pilot.” Hank opens his mouth to say something, but Connor cuts him off, “Ah– I’ve talked too much again. I’ll go ahead and get out of your hair.”

   Connor gets up from the bench then promptly throws his tray out before his mind can force him to stay and somehow finish it. Connor takes a quick glance around the cafeteria area, noting with something weighing his chest down that everyone else in the room is in comfortable clothes except for Ritch, but the brother doesn’t seem to bothered with how he’s seems to be getting along with Simon and the others. He spins around to head out of the crowded area and go back to his room to reset after today and sleep. As he passes Mr. Anderson, who’s been staring at him like he’s trying to solve a difficult puzzle, Connor decides he might as well properly say goodbye, so he doesn’t come off as just plain rude by walking past Mr. Anderson as if he doesn’t exist.

   “Thank you for putting up with me today, Mr. Anderson, I hope your evening gets better.” _After I ruined your peaceful dinner time,_ Connor adds in his head.

   Connor doesn’t see how Mr. Anderson tenses up upon hearing his name, because he never told Connor his name and he hasn’t met anyone who has recognized him in _years_ because he’s fallen so far down. Connor doesn’t see because he's already making his way hastily back to his bunker, where he can’t possibly screw anything else up unless he’s still awake when Ritch gets back to their room. That doesn’t happen, however, because as soon as Connor gets inside, changes into sleeping clothes (because he was always told “pajamas” were for children), and gets himself tucked into his tiny bed, he’s out like a light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you didn’t hate this chapter! This chapter is in Connor’s POV, I know, and I promise Reed900 will come soon, just not for a couple of chapters, ya dig? Gotta raise the anticipation (I hope)! Next chapter will likely be a mixture of Ritch’s POV and Hank’s. Maybe a bit of Connor too? I haven’t decided yet. Anyway, Ima go and stop procrastinating housework Lol. Thank you to anyone for reading this!! Ciao!


	2. Evaluations

   Ritch wakes up the next morning to the sound of his alarm blaring in his ear. He grumbles as he shuts it off, but makes himself sit up so he doesn’t get the urge to roll back to sleep. Out of the twins, Connor’s always been the lighter sleeper for whatever reason, and has always been quicker at getting up. One would think that being identical twins means everything about them beyond personality traits are identical, but that certainly isn’t the case for them.

   Ritch’s brain finally wakes up enough to properly take in his surroundings, and he notices Connor sitting at the desk writing something in a notebook. He has never once kept any kind of journal or record of his daily life, so it’s strange to see him writing when there are no assignments. Ritch contemplates asking what’s got his entire attention, but he looks really into what he’s doing, so Ritch settles with just getting up to the bathroom silently and leaving Connor to it. Normally he would greet Ritch or do something to acknowledge his presence, but Connor doesn’t seem to even realize that his brother’s alarm went off.

   Ritch goes through his morning routine in the small bathroom quickly before changing into fresh clothes and stepping back out into their shared room. Connor is no longer writing in the notebook and appears almost sheepish where he’s sitting in the chair. His leg is bouncing rapidly and he’s picking at his nails, both bad habits that Amanda has scolded him for doing time and time again. He only does this when he’s nervous, anxious, and/or thinking too hard. All Ritch has to do to get him talking is tilt his head and raise one eyebrow just a smidge.

   “I’ve started keeping notes about any happenings my days so I can try to do a better job of not making a fool of myself by being reminded of and learning from past mistakes and successes. That and maybe a few notes about the people I meet so I know how to cater to them so they don’t hate me– us, cause what i do affects you too. But I also don’t want it look like I’m desperate for validation since that’s a reoccurring a problem, like you tried to tell me yesterday.”

   Ritch’s eyebrows furrow and his mouth morphs into a frown of confusion and concern.

   “Did North say something to you yesterday?”

   Connor’s head snaps up, “What? No. No, she– It’s not her fault for being curious.” Connor’s gaze falls back to his shoes, “And it wasn’t just her, they were all curious. I just never know when to shut my mouth and now they all probably think we’re freaks or snobbish overachievers.”

   “What exactly did you tell them?” Ritch gets defensive, knowing what kinds of strange things can spill out of Connor’s mouth when pushed into a corner. Connor tearing at his fingernails, rather than just picking, and his eyes never rise.

   “...that we’ve trained for over ten years already.” He finally looks up, “Apparently that isn’t a normal amount of time at all. They only trained a year before they came here.”

    _That’s what Connor is worried about? That’s it?_

   “Is that truly all you said?” Ritch tilts his head.

   “Yea, but still!”

   “If it makes you feel better, they approached me about that during dinner last night. They think we’re very dedicated and will make good pilots. They don’t think we’re freaks or snobbish at all.”

   Connor’s leg halts and his hands slow just as his eyes glaze over, seeing something on a different plain of existence.

   “...oh.”

   “Yea. You haven’t managed to do us in yet, Connor, so calm down.”

   Connor shakes his head and returns to Earth, “...okay. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been worried about something as small as that anyway.”

   Connor stands from the chair, shaking his head. When he fully straightens, he puts on such a good mask that even Ritch wouldn’t have been able to tell anything was seriously bothering him if they hadn’t had this chat. Connor’s eyes meet his with the slightest smile in a false show of confidence and content. Ritch knows better than to call him out on the act by now.

   “We should start heading out to breakfast if we want to make it to our first class on time.” Connor declares.

   Connor then spins towards their makeshift shoe rack to put on his boots. Ritch follows his lead but doesn’t move as fast as his twin, not feeling any need to rush. There’s no doubt that Connor is feeling embarrassed and maybe guilty about what his mindset was again, another side effect from all those years of living with Amanda.

   The thing about Amanda is that she isn’t a bad person, per se, she just has her own way of doing things and has an image in her mind to fulfill. If someone doesn’t follow exactly what her views and goals are, she isn’t very receptive to those changes, since everything obviously works so well in her own mind. That being said, she has an image of what he and Connor should look like as jaeger pilots in her mind, and that image does not include any fidgeting on Connor’s part whatsoever, nor does it include how completely and wholly he feels that people need to “not dislike” him, either. It’s seen as a weakness in her eyes, and it did in Ritch’s eyes at one point in time too, because Connor is definitely the kind of person who would put someone’s life over the mission. That apparently isn’t the ideal soldier for Amanda.

   She also has certain things against Ritch, but they apparently weren’t as important to “fix” as Connor’s were. Like how Ritch looks like he’s constantly scowling or glaring even when he definitely isn’t– North called it “resting bitch face” yesterday over dinner. She also doesn’t like the fact Ritch wears lighter colors, since they get dirty and stain so much easier than Connor’s choice range of colors. She doesn’t like how Ritch only talks when he needs something or a response is needed and usually has less inflection to his tone than most, yet she doesn’t like how Connor sometimes rambles or stutters when put on the spot. Amanda also used to get short with Ritch whenever he’d try to preventing or defuse problematic situations because “it’s not your job to make sure there’s no fighting.” Ritch easily ignores that so called “tip” more often than even he feels he should.

   Someone ramming into his shoulder in the walkway yanks Ritch out of his thoughts.

   “Hey! Watch it dick head!” someone swears far too loud to be standing next to him.

   Time to ignore that “tip” one more time, because Ritch wants to curse the brunette with stubble out because it was  _his_  fault the ran into each other. As much as it didn’t look like it, Ritch was watching where he was going  _and_  he was walking on the correct side of the hallway. This man had to have gone out of his way to bump into Ritch. However, Ritch is not one to fuel or contribute to fights, so he’s going to apologize briefly and walk away, because that’s exactly what this arrogant guy doesn’t want him to do.

   “I’m sorry, I guess i was lost in thought.” he turns to walk away, “Have a good day, sir.”

   “That’s it?” He huffs. “What a coward.”

   Ritch has to close his eyes and clench his jaw to keep himself from snapping a come back at the asshole. His hands clamp into tight fists for a second before he forces them to relax, then he walks away, disappointed in himself for showing a reaction to the idiot’s cheap words. He’s almost to the cafeteria when a familiar voice calls out behind him.

   “Hey Gavin! Wait up!”

   So  _that_  was the “Gavin Reed” Pilot Persons warned him about yesterday evening when they happened to run into each other by the cafeteria entrance. Ritch fully understands now what she meant by “hot headed” and “irritable”. He idly wonders if Gavin has something against the new trainees or if he targets anyone that shows any kind of weakness. He’s willing to bet the second option, as upsetting as it is.

   Ritch finally makes into the food court area and make towards the line. He spots his brother sitting in the same spot as he did last night, at the table Pilot Persons warned was off limits to anyone who isn’t named Hank Anderson. Connor sitting there last night was likely just a mistake, but this morning it’s no doubt deliberate. The only reason Connor’s getting away with it now is because he isn’t the only person who isn’t Mr. Anderson sitting there this morning. The old man probably doesn’t wake up in time to make it to breakfast from what he’s heard about him.

   For now, Ritch leaves Connor to do whatever he wants for now and sits with the Manfreds and North. He was invited to sit with them again at dinner yesterday after he invited himself to the table and engaged in some conversation. That makes it sound like he didn’t enjoy talking with them last night, but he did. He handles the more personal questions much better than Connor, and also asks others less of those kinds of questions as well. When they’re together they balance each other out (just as Amanda designed) but alone Connor is more of a wreck than Ritch is, if he’s being honest.

   “Ritch!” North calls out, causing the other three to turn in their seats to see the subject of her shout.

   “Hey, Ritch!” Markus waves.

   “Good morning!” Simon smiles at him, definitely the mom-friend of the group.

   Josh simply nods at him with a small smile and wave.

   “Good morning everyone.” Ritch sets his tray down next to North and sits, “How did you guys sleep last night?”

   “On the bed–” North jokes while Markus starts to answer “I slept okay–”

   “ _North_.” Josh and Markus groan. North only smirks and shrugs.

   Simon takes it upon himself to answer, “The beds are kind of stiff and really cramped, but it was better than the hard floor like when we were waiting for the helicopter.”

   Everyone agrees with different levels of annoyance at the situation and relief that they didn’t have to stay on the floor last night.”

   “Hey, where’s Connor?” Josh asks.

   “He’s eating at Mr. Anderson’s table this morning, same place as last night.”

   Markus winces, “Is he still mad at us for yesterday?”

   “No, he was never mad actually. He’s just embarrassed. He think he made you guys think we’re both, in his words, ‘freaks’ and ‘overachieving snobs’. So he’s doing what Connor does best and he’s trying to avoid similar situations until he believes you guys have forgotten about yesterday.” Ritch starts eating his food.

   “But he didn’t even do anything?” Simon asks, lifting eggs to his mouth.

   “You should tell him that yourself, then. He doesn’t believe me when I say those kinds of things anymore.”  _Not since_  it  _happened_. he doesn’t add, instead he says “I assume you all know how it is with siblings.”

   The all nod, hum, or both then fall quiet. A few beats of silence pass, then North finally does what he’s growing to learn what she does second best (right behind threatening things and people), and breaks it.

   “So, what do you think we’re gonna do in training today?”

   They spend the rest of the time they have before they have to head off to their first training session talking about what they think said class will entail. They all agree there will be an assessment today, but they disagree on what kind. Ritch thinks they will be tested on compatibility, North thinks they’ll be pitted against each other to test skill, while Markus instead believes they will be tested on how they react in certain situations for future reference. Simon thinks there will be a written test to see how much they know already, and Josh believes there will be mental evaluations that are more in depth than the ones they had to pass to successfully sign up for this training.

   They step into the training room to see that so far it’s only Connor, Traci, and Kelly and Leon in the room so far, and they’re all training with different things. Kelly and Leon seem to be in a deep discussion about something, and Traci is in the middle of doing stretches. Connor, on the other hand, is in the back corner going at it on the punching bag, and while the others think he’s just started because he isn’t breaking a sweat, Ritch knows better. Despite how mentally messed up Amanda seems to have left the both of them without anyone really realizing until recently, all those years weren’t for naught. She did extremely well in coaching them when it came down to the physical and endurance aspects of their training, which is rather important when fist fighting a giant, reptile-alien-monster thing.

   Bidding his new friends farewell, he steps to go over to Connor and ask what’s bothering him now, but Simon stops him with a hand on his arm.

   “You said it’d be better if we told him that everything’s fine ourselves?”

   “Oh yeah,” North begins, “I already forgot about that. Well, we should probably do that now so we don’t have as much of an audience.” Josh stops her from walking over there.

   “I think Markus should go alone. He’s got a way with people and words. And if we all approach him he’s probably gonna get all awkward and skittish.”

   “That’s a good point.” Simon nods.

   “Alright, I’ll go talk to him real quick then. I’ll be right back.”

   As Markus walks over to chat with Connor, the other four go off and do their own thing so they aren’t just huddled in a group staring at them from across the room. Ritch doesn’t get to see what Simon and Josh decided to do because North launches herself at the twin in a poor attempt of a surprise attack. Ritch dodges it easily, which makes North swing another attack that Ritch easily dodges again. This quickly escalates into a duel that North never has a chance at winning, but he still goes easy on her so he doesn’t accidentally break or dislocate something of hers. By the time North finally learns that she has no hope of beating him, they’ve gathered a small audience of other trainees.

   Ritch steps back from the marked area to look for Connor, whom he finds standing off to the side with Markus, Simon, and Josh. The twins make eye contact, then Connor’s eyes flick to Ritch’s right, then back on him, then repeats the motion, nothing else about him changing. Understanding the code that something’s coming up behind him, Ritch turns around and catches North getting ready to pounce on his back. She deflates almost immediately with a groan and Ritch can’t help but smirk.

   “You do realize that starting a duel with someone outside of the designated area isn’t allowed, right?”

   “No, I didn’t know that, but it’s not like the instructors are watching or anything.”

   Ritch doesn’t give a response, instead choosing to turn around and finally make his way to the group of four. North follows close behind, no longer a threat to him (not that she ever really was, though).

   It turns out that Markus really does have a way with people and words, because Connor doesn’t look the slightest bit awkward sitting here with the four exact people that sent him into a mini-spiral this morning. When North starts trying to claim that she almost had Ritch down a couple of times during their duel, Connor informs her that he was going easy on her with a lack of his previous ease. Thankfully, nobody takes note of this and simply laughs at the almost-whine North gives at the information, but Ritch takes that almost dark tone to heart. After all, Connor is the one person who truly knows Ritch’s strength and skill first hand, and is the one person to match it.

   After everyone arrives and has some time to mingle around, Chloe and a huge man they’ve never seen before calmly walk into the room. Almost instantly, four people move to the right side of the room to line up against the wall similarly to how they did yesterday. Everyone else gets the hint and migrates to that side of the room as well. By the time the two instructors make it to the center of the room, everyone is (hopefully) in the spot they were lined up in yesterday, completely unprompted. This gets a seemingly genuine smile on the unfamiliar man’s face.

   “Hello everybody,” the man starts with a soothing, low voice, which doesn’t quite match his huge and bulky appearance, “I’m surprised you guys have lined up without instruction. That’s really good! With the other groups I’ve taught I’ve had to spend a while getting people in order.” The man looks to Chloe, who looks minuscule next to him, “Did you tell them to do this?”

   “No, I have no clue who did this.”

   “Chris Miller told us three to do this yesterday, sir and ma’am.” a woman’s– Rico’s?– voice says.

    _Doesn’t matter. Speaking out of turn leads to punishme_ –

   “Well then, I’ll have to give my regards to him, then. He made my job much easier.” he smiles, and it surprisingly reaches his eyes.

    _Oh. Was that another “just Amanda” thing?_ –

   “Next time though, I’d advise strongly against speaking without being directly addressed to. It can lead to trouble. Okay?”

    _I‘m just going to stop assuming things_.

   “Yes sir.”

   “Good. Now, my name is Luther and I will be your instructor and trainer until you either quit or move on to become pilots. Before we begin, does anyone happen to have any questions?”

   The guy standing standing next to Ritch– was it Alex or Allen?– raises his hand, and Luther– or should it be Mr. Luther? He should probably ask that– nods at him.

   “How much can you lift with muscles like yours?”

   Ritch sees the mistake immediately, so he raises his hand in hopes that Luther will elect to ignore the dumbass next to him. Luther sighs and closes his eyes before he can see Ritch’s hand. This is obviously far from the first time he’s been asked a question like this. Luther opens his eyes and they land on Ritch. He nods at him without addressing Alex whatsoever, meaning Ritch’s plan worked.

   “Do you prefer Mr. Luther or..?”

   The instructor doesn’t quite smile, but his face lightens after Alex’s nonsense question, “Just Luther is fine. Mr. Luther sounds too distant and formal. I try to be someone you trainees can trust.”

   Ritch nods silently. When no one else raises their hand after several seconds, Luther continues on to explain what today’s plans are.

   Turns out, everyone at the breakfast table this morning was right.

   Every person who came alone is gonna start out the day by dueling against Luther one by one, just so he can get a feel for what each person’s skill set and fighting patterns so he can better match pairs. While that’s happening, the people who came as pairs are going to duel under Chloe’s watch to see if each pair is actually drift compatible, or if they were kidding themselves. After that, they’re going to do physical tests to see how far each person can be pushed as far as endurance, strength, and flexibility go because apparently the new jaegers that are almost done being built have a much wider range of movement than their predecessors.

   After that will be lunch, and after lunch, while they’re tired and sore if Chloe and Luther “do their jobs right”, they will take an extensive test to see what needs to be taught and what can be lightly brushed over. Luther also explains that if anyone gets a high enough score on this test, then they’ll probably be appointed as tutors or something to help the slower trainees. With the end of the explanation finally over, Luther steps back and gestures to the two marked areas on the ground and asks if there are any volunteers to go first.

   Of course, North volunteers herself and Josh to go first, even though it’s clear that Josh doesn’t want to. That earns a look from Chloe and a scribble in her notebook. Alex volunteers to go against Luther first, and Ritch cringes at how violently he worded it. As Alex walks into the designated area, Connor leans over to mumble something in his ear.

   “He’s not going to make it.”

   “He’s too eager to fight.” Ritch continues. These types of topics were pretty much the only thing the brothers could talk to each other about and be completely fine without stepping on eggshells throughout the conversation. “I think they’ll push him harder than the rest of us. Put him in his place or make him want to quit.”

   “He’ll definitely quit if they do that. I don’t think he realizes how hard and how much thinking being a jaeger pilot actually takes.”

   “If he doesn’t quit or learn to calm himself and think clearly, they’ll fail him.”

   Connor nods in agreement and leans back to standing straight again, turning his head away from Ritch to watch North and Josh spar. Josh doesn’t look too entirely happy to be doing that, but North looks delighted, almost too delighted. North throws the first punch which Josh blocks, then she throws another that gets dodged. The next few minutes go on like this, with North on Offense and Josh on defense while occasionally throwing a few counter attacks. Connor leans back into Ritch’s space.

   “As much as I hate to say it, I don’t think Josh is gonna make it.”

   Ritch nods once, “From the few conversations I’ve had with him, he has more of a peaceful heart, he’d rather use words than force, and North is the complete opposite.”

   “They’re compatible, I’d say, with how easily they’re making predicting the other’s moves look, but I don’t think Josh will want to stay until the end.”

   Ritch nods thoughtfully in agreement. Connor stands upright again, effectively ending their little talk.

   The thump of something hitting the ground followed by a pained grunt and groan alerts Ritch and Connor that Alex just got beat by Luther. Looking over at the other ring, the twins see Alex on the ground rubbing his tailbone and complaining while Luther looks down on him in disappointment. Ritch can’t help but smirk at the sight. If he were a lesser man, he’d probably snort or chuckle, but thankfully he isn’t.

   “Alex, you are too eager to fight and throw yourself into danger for the sake of violence. You need to focus on your defense, slow down, and think during battles.”

   “I need more practice is what I need.” Alex snaps back.

    _This isn’t going to be pretty_. Ritch can tell that Connor has the same thought.

   “This is the first day, so I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that and not throw you straight into punishments, but know that I will not be as lax with you from now on.

   “Think I’m too weak to handle a bit of ‘ _punishing_ ’? I’m a future pilot, I can handle anything you throw at me.”

   The twins look at each other in a way that could only mean “oh no” and silently agree to turn to watch as North and Josh finish up their little test. Luther’s voice catches their attention before they can really watch, though.

   “Looks like even the people in this class know what you just said wrong. Do you want take that back?”

   “I meant what I said. I’ve been training for three years already! I can handle what you throw at me!”

   The twins share another look, this time more of a “he thinks that’s impressive?” kind of look, then turn back to Alex and Luther. Alex has his arms crossed, chest puffed out, and head held high, while Luther just looks tired and already done with the self-proclaimed adult. There’s no doubt in the brother’s minds that Alex won’t survive a week here. Luther crosses his arms and tilts his head, which makes him look much more intimidating than before.

   “Three years, huh? That it?”

   “It’s three more years than everyone else has here.”

   “Seven years less, actually,” Connor mumbles under his breath. Ritch can’t stop the smirk from spreading on his face until Alex glares lasers in their direction. He apparently heard Connor mumbling.

   “What was that, asshole?”

   “Alex!” The young adult snaps his head back to Luther, finally looking a bit worried, “Why don’t you go report to Marshal Fowler, I’m sure he has some intern work you can do. You know, if you’re already set for being a jaeger pilot.”

   Alex finally has the mind to not push Luther on this order. He nods once, and “yes sir,” is all he says before marching out with hands balled into fists.

   “Now that that’s over.” Luther sighs, “Rico! You’re up! And all of you feel free to learn from the people before you!” Luther smiles nicely, as if that whole debacle never happened.

   Thankfully, no one else causes any troubles after that show. After North’s and Josh’s round was over, Chloe tells North that she needs to touch up on her defense, and that Josh needs to be more aggressive in his fighting if he plans on taking on kaijus. Kelly and Leon go next, and they’re a good balance, and Chloe has no immediate concerns. Then Simon and Markus come up next.

   They seem hesitant to start fighting– which can be seen as a good thing, considering they’re supposed to always be working together– but once they get to sparring, it’s obvious they’re drift compatible. Even if they don’t do as much actual fighting as the other pairs, it’s only because they keep anticipating the other’s moves, which ends in a lot of stalemates. Chloe mentions that they were too timid to try to land any hits, and that they’ll probably have to go against Luther so they can get a good idea of what their real skill and strength is.

   She calls up the Hallowitt siblings next. Right off the bat Ritch is sure that they’re not compatible. The fight starts with Lily throwing a punch and Maveric being almost offended by that. When he tries to punch Lily back, it’s extremely weak, so it’s obvious she dodges it, but she only just barely manages it. Throughout the rest of the time they have to fight they make it obvious that they find the other very unpredictable and unreadable. Where Connor and Ritch can tell when Maveric is going to make a left uppercut, Lily apparently doesn’t see, and tries to block it the wrong way. The twins can’t tell if it’s a mixture of incompatibility and lack of skill or if it’s wholly one or the other. Ritch hopes it’s a mixture of both plus a bad day for them on top of that as they walk to the side of the room where everyone else is patiently waiting to be dismissed.

   Then Chloe calls his and Connor’s names.

   They slowly make their way to the marked area, not really enthusiastic about being put against each other like this again. At least they’re the last group, so they can immediately take a break after this. Ritch wonders if Chloe did that on purpose after hearing how they were against being paired together yesterday.

   Connor shakes his hands out and bounces on his toes a few times while Ritch rolls his neck and shoulders, knowing that those are Connor’s favorite places to target. Ritch takes a deep breath and watches as Connor does the same while maintaining eye contact. Chloe gives the the okay to start, but instead of getting into fighting stances immediately like the other pairs, the brothers walk to the middle and shake hands like Amanda has taught them to do. With one shared look and a nod from each, they agree silently to hold back, but not so much as to match the skills of everyone else. The last thing they want is to be put through redundant and useless classes and training routines.

   They walk to opposite ends of the marked area. There’s a moment where they just stand there, but then Connor makes the first move. He bends his knees and raises his arms, which leads Ritch to do the same, then Connor takes a few steps forward, and Ritch retaliates by taking one. They both know whoever makes the first move will be at a slight disadvantage for the first couple of moves, and it seems like Connor’s willing to take that risk this time. Connor twitches, and suddenly the entire room and everyone watching them disappears and it’s just the two of them, the timer, and this fight.

   Connor pounces, and not anything like how North pounced, no. He is very quick and his fist flies towards Ritch’s face, but he leans just in time to avoid it. Ritch grabs the arm that just swung the punch and twists it so Connor is forced to turn his back to his brother. Before he can try to pin Connor, he kicks straight behind, aiming for Ritch’s kneecaps. Ritch dodges by turning his whole body, which gives Connor just enough room and the a good angle to elbow him in the face. He almost succeeds too, but Ritch catches his arm in time, the force of the impact probably bruising his hand. Ritch realizes his mistake a moment too late because Connor uses the fact that Ritch is holding onto both of his arms and pulls them in front of himself, forcing Ritch forward and thus bashing his nose on the back of Connor’s head. Ritch, momentarily stunned, loosens his grip, which gives Connor the chance to twist out of his grip and trip him. He goes to pin Ritch on the ground, but he rolls out of the way and kicks Connor in the side with both legs, causing the other to launch a ways back, topple over, and go into a short coughing fit. They both quickly get back up into standing positions, Ritch now with a bleeding nose.

    Ritch moves quickly and makes to punch Connor, but he blocks it, and the next punch, and the one after that. The forth punch is the one Connor catches, and that’s when Connor throws his first punch of this segment of fighting. Ritch easily avoids it by moving his head to the side, and catches his next punch. Now each brother has one of the other’s wrists in their hand. Connor grips onto Ritch’s other wrist so he’s holding both of them, and Ritch copies him. He uses this split moment of Connor’s stillness to try to knee his twin in the side, but of course Connor sees that and goes to block it with his own arm. Ritch sees this at the last moment and forces his foot down onto Connor’s foot. They both know that does nothing, since they’re both wearing boots, but it still hinders Connor, who retaliates by yanking on Ritch’s left arm  _hard_ , effectively dislocating it and rendering it temporarily useless. Ritch purposefully drops to the ground like a heavy weight, forcing Connor to go down with him. Connor lets go of his wrists to go for the neck while pinning him to the ground. Ritch uses his right hand to shove his fingers in Connor’s face, aiming for the eyes, which makes the other jump back off and away from him.

   Ritch doesn’t bother to roll onto his stomach to hop up onto his feet. With a small wince, Ritch fixes his left shoulder like he has many times in the past– Dislocating his shoulder used to be some kind of party trick that he’d do, which is probably the only reason why Connor dared to do it today. Both Connor and Ritch are breathing more heavily than when they started, but not really panting, yet. Their eyes never leave their target, except when Connor quickly glances to the side. Ritch follows the action and sees that there is a little more than seven minutes left to this fight of the ten obligated ones, and while the others had more minutes added on so Chloe could get a better analyzation of the pair’s capabilities, the twins highly doubt that the same will happen with them.

   Connor takes a quick step forward and Ritch does the same, meeting in the middle with Ritch starting this round with an attempted kick to the ribs. Connor catches his leg and lifts, trying to set him off balance, but Ritch drops and lands on his hands, leaving his other foot free in the air to successfully kick Connor in the chin. When he flips himself right again, he’s met with Connor’s fist to his throat. Winded, Ritch tries his best to block and dodge his twin’s calculated blows with little luck. Finally, he retaliates, punching Connor hard on the cheek. Next thing they know, their fighting becomes just a flurry of punches and kicks, each brother dodging and blocking the other’s harsh blows, some attempts more successful than others. Then Connor manages to get a kick up by his head.

   Ritch narrowly dodges it, and pounces on Connor while his back is turned for just that moment and locks him into a choke hold. Connor digs his nails into Ritch’s arm, which causes the other to growl and press tighter against throat. All of a sudden Ritch’s leg is forced out from under him and he’s falling to the ground, but he catches himself in time and rolls onto his back just as Connor lands him. There’s no doubt he was going to try to pin Ritch’s arms behind him. The next while is spent wrestling around on the ground, throwing punches and kicks whenever one of them knows it can land, but otherwise focusing on keeping the other down and getting themselves up. Finally, Connor gets a tight hold on Ritch’s wrists and forces his knee hard into his gut. Just as Connor’s about to spin him over into a proper pin, Ritch lifts his leg so his foot can push Connor’s left leg down, toppling him over and making him move his other knee off of Ritch’s gut. This gives the almost-pinned brother a chance to fold both of his legs near his chest in preparation to kick Connor off of him with both feet. He rolls off of Ritch just in time though, and stands up and backs away. Ritch hops up onto his feet once more, albeit more painfully, but he does a good job of not showing it.

   One minute, thirty-three seconds and counting, ticks the timer behind Connor.

   Connor’s chin, nose, and lip, and forehead are bleeding, and he is bruised in many different areas. That gives Ritch a disgusting sense of pride that is no doubt subconsciously fueled from the praise he always got from Amanda whenever he’d win one of these fights. Connor’s putting less pressure on his left leg than he was before, and isn’t raising his right arm as high as he normally does. Yet, despite these injuries, he still stands sturdy and still as a stone. If it weren’t for the spots of blood on his shirt and pants, Ritch would assume that’s all that’s wrong with him. That and how Connor is controlling his breath, so his chest or ribs must hurt.

   Ritch is panting rather painfully too. His left arm aches from earlier, his shoulders and back aches from being tripped and slammed to the floor more than average. Ritch quickly wipes the blood from his nose that’s running over his lips and dripping down his chin and flinches when his hand brushes against his nose. There are sharp pains on the insides of his cheeks and lips from being punched and his teeth cutting into them, and there’s pains on the outside too where his lip is split and the bruises blossoming on his face. It hurts like a bitch to stand on his right ankle for whatever reason, but Ritch refuses to show weakness. Yet, noting how Connor glances down at that exact ankle, maybe he’s babying it more than he thought.

   Ritch makes a face that he hopes comes across as more apologetic, and Connor lifts his left shoulder in a hint of a half-shrug that Ritch hopes is an acknowledgement. Ritch almost limps a step forward and Connor does the same–

   “Alright, that’s enough.” Luther calls.

   Connor spins to glance back at the timer– frozen at one minute twenty-six seconds– without breaking their stances, then look to their instructor without moving.

   “I think I’ve seen more than enough for now.”

   Both brother’s eyes widen. That phrase only meant corrections and/or ridicules growing up. They immediately straighten up to a normal, standing posture– Ritch with a small wince– and fold their hands behind their backs– Connor with a small wince. Connor has the balls to speak up, albeit with his head tilted down.

   “Did we do something wrong?” His words come out a tad breathless from him trying to control his breathing, but they’re clearly understandable. That’s why neither brother knows why Luther and Chloe look as baffled as they do.

   Luther’s face changes to something slightly more concerned. “Did you do– No!”

   Chloe explains, “We were more afraid you were going to seriously injure each other if you kept going.”

   “Oh.” Connor states blankly.

    _I thought we were holding back enough. Apparently not_ , Ritch notes almost absentmindedly.

   “Where did you guys train?” asks Luther.

   Ritch doesn’t really want to talk about this, and he knows for a fact that Connor doesn’t either.

   “Just in our yard,” Ritch answers, feeling the warm red staining his white shirt, “But we’ve been training for a while, so...”

   “There’s no way you guys completely self taught.” Chloe is definitely growing suspicious. Of what exactly, Ritch doesn’t know.

   “We did though.” Connor jumps in, “I mean– We had help from videos and the occasional physical trainer that would visit our stepmother, but otherwise we did learn on our own, sir.”

    _Well, that’s not exactly a lie..._

   Thankfully, Luther stops Chloe’s likely onslaught of questions with a wave of his hand.

   “Leave them, Chloe. All we needed to do was to assess their skill and strength, not where they got it from. And I say that they’ve  _easily_  passed this part of the evaluation.” Luther turns to the injured brothers, “And you two refuse to work with one another?”

   “Yes sir.” they confirm at the same time.

   Luther nods, “Marshal Fowler states here–” he lightly slaps the two files in his hand “–that you two have to be paired until proven incompatible. And I think this fight proved the exact opposite.”

   Connor and Ritch lower their heads, both coming to terms that they may not become jaeger pilots after all. How could they if everything they do proves that they’re drift compatible when they absolutely refuse to be in each other’s minds again?

   “Well then, it’d be a real shame if you found someone else to pair up with before you graduated from this class, now wouldn’t it?”

   Did Ritch just hear that right?

   “Sir?” Apparently Connor’s thinking the same thing.

   “But you didn’t hear that from me.” He smiles that same genuine, kind smile from when he first entered the room. He then schools his expression into something more blank as he raises his voice for people to hear. “Alright! You two should go get yourselves checked out then head out to lunch, we’ll finish your physical testing at a later date, since you’ve really done a number on yourselves. Everyone else, listen up! We’re going to be doing flexibility next, and I need everyone to understand how to do these moves safely so no one gets hurt, okay?”

   A choir of “Yes sir”s is the last thing the twins hear before leaving the room.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

   Hank Anderson is not one to wake up before noon. Maybe sometimes  _at_  noon, but never before, which is why he’s confused as hell as to why he’s awake at fucking 11:26 in the morning. Lunch– or in Hank’s case, breakfast– hasn’t even started yet. There’s still 34 god damn minutes until he can get his daily dosage of comfort food to try to help lessen his never-ending hangover. Well, it’s not quite never-ending. He doesn’t have a hangover when he’s drunk, which is yet another tempting reason to just say “fuck it” and start drinking early today.

   Too bad Hank’s stupid fuckin’ conscious gets in the way of that.

   “ _Don’t start drinking yet!_ ”, it says, “ _You’ll have a worse hangover tomorrow if you start now!_ ” it tries, “ _Try getting to lunch early today! Get food sooner!_ ”

   That manages to convince him.

   With a groan, he rolls himself off his lousy excuse for a bed to go wash his face and change. He stumbles a bit to the bathroom, not quite prepared for the wave of nausea that crashes through his body, but he makes it just in time to empty what little contents he had in his stomach into the toilet. He flushes the toilet with slightly shaky hands once he doesn’t feel as horrible. Hank manages to get himself up and off of the ground and to the mirror to wash his face, but one look at his reflection makes him pause.

   Hank knows he’s a slob, and he’s let himself slip, but that doesn’t mean he should walk around without showering for the past few days, or without shaving in much longer than that. So he does exactly that. He forces himself to take a speedy shower because god damn it he’s starting to smell like a high school locker room minus the Old Spice and Axe, and if he can smell himself, other people sure can too. Once he’s out and dressed in– what outfit did he blindly grab today? Ah, a casual, dark grey shirt and one of his cleaner pair of sweatpants, he wastes some time half-heartedly trimming the bush on his face. There’s a difference to not caring how you look and having a full-blown redneck beard and hair, and Hank refuses to cross into that territory.

   By the time Hank has his socks and shoes on and the aspirin finally starts taking working, the clock glows with the numbers 11:58. Two minutes until lunch, which means no meandering down the halls or awkwardly waiting for the food court to open by the time he gets there. He can just get from point A to point B, and that’s exactly what he does.

   Walking into the food court, Hank immediately notices how relatively vacant the place is and makes a mental note to maybe start waking up a bit earlier if only because of this. He walks over to the almost nonexistent line for food (which quickly builds up behind him) with a calm ease he hasn’t felt in a long while. The cafeteria workers know Hank’s order now, and they also know to not try to engage in any small talk with him either, especially during his breakfast/their lunch time. They simply put his preferred, greasy food on his tray and hand it to him. Hank nods at them like he normally does and walks back to his table.

   Hank’s a little more than halfway done with his meal when the food court starts getting even louder than what he’s used to. Hank thought he found the secret to a quieter, more peaceful lunch, but all he’s managed to find were fucking lies. People are crowding into other tables, trying to talk over one another, and laughing loudly. Normally Hank wouldn’t mind people having fun– he doesn’t get into people’s business as long as they don’t get into his– but today it’s just too much for his poor head to handle with the addition of the bright lights.

   Hank never gets hungover, but when he does, it’s usually bad.

   He leans forward and puts his elbows on the table and his head in his hands and groans. Hank doesn’t know how long he sits like this, just trying to block out the lights and sounds. The sound of a cup being placed on the table directly in front of Hank pulls him back into the real world. Hank somewhat blearily looks up to who set the cup down to find the kid from last time standing in front of him with a half smile. It would be a full smile, if it weren’t for the three gauze/bandages on his face.

   “It looks like you could use this more than me.”

   The guy– fuck, what was his name?– nudges the cup closer to Hank with one of his wrapped hands, then moves to the other end of the table. He’s babying his left leg, and he grimaces as he sits down. He presses the edges of a cooling patch on the back of his head, and the angle allows Hank to see a fabric brace around his right shoulder under the collar of his black shirt. All in all, this fucker has definitely seen some better days– proof being yesterday evening– and Hank can’t stop himself from being curious.

   “The fuck happened to you?”

   The younger man drops his head and frowns at his food, “Just the beginning of jaeger pilot training.” He turns his head to Hank with another half-smile, “It looks worse than it feels, I promise.”

    _What kind of fuckin’ training? And I’ve only seen these new kids around for a day or two, so they aren’t doing the serious stuff yet. And even then it still wouldn’t look like this… I should check with Jeffery about this._

   “What’s your name, kid?” Hank takes a well-earned sip of water.

   “Connor, sir- er, um. It’s Connor.” The guy– Connor– starts tapping his fingers on the table.

   “You sure it was training that beat the shit out of you today?” Hank should really stop talking. He doesn’t want Connor to think that he’s interested in being acquainted with him.

   Connor’s finger-tapping speeds up and his foot starts tapping too.

   “Yes– Yea.”

   “There a reason you fidget so god damn much?”

   That must be the wrong thing to say because Connor goes completely still and shrinks into himself, muttering an apology. Honestly, Hank’s just surprised this Connor guy still wants to sit here. When the younger man doesn’t offer up an explanation, Hanks asks another question.

   “Why’re you sittin’ here  _today_? I get you wanted a break from people yesterday, but I’m not exactly well liked y’know. If ya stick around here you won’t get any friends.”

   Connor turns his head towards him with a face of... determination?, “They may not like you, but I don’t know enough about you yet to form a proper opinion of my own. So far, though, I don’t think you’re bad to be around.” Connor turns back to his food, taking another bite, “I tend to be too awkward for friends anyway. My brother’s more of the socializer here.”

   “You sure you’re not trying to fix me? You knew my name yesterday even though I never told you it.”  _Checkmate_ , Hank thinks as he watches Connor tense up immediately.

   “I admit that I used to… follow your work those years ago, but I promise that that has nothing to do with why I’m sitting here now.” Another bite of food, “And I don’t believe that there’s any way to ‘fix’ people, per se. The only people who can really fix people are ourselves, no?” Connor starts spinning that god damned fork around his fingers again.

   Normally by now, Hank would be causing some kind of scene trying to a person away from him and his table, but Connor is different. Not different like in the books and movies where “it’s a gut feeling” or whatever the fuck they call it, no. Connor’s different because, despite admitting to knowing who Hank was, he’s very obviously not here to try and “fix” him or get close to his “idol”. He’s just here to mind his own business and maybe ramble about his troubles a bit, and Hank can’t be fucking bothered to put in the effort to actively dislike the guy for clearly not really having anyone to really confide in. Hank knows how it feels to have so much stacked on his shoulders while everyone around him says he should “move on” or “get over it” or that it’s “not a big deal in the first place”.

   So what if Hank can somehow see some of himself in this lonely fucker– well, more like self-project, but he doesn’t see either of them complaining– and is willing to put up with him for a bit. This kid just better not think that he’s going to stay here. He better find other friends and skedaddle on away from this table by the end of tomorrow.

   “Ourselves, you say. Is that a general term or you including yourself in the self-pity party?”

   “Is this a test or a semblance of curiosity?”

   Hank huffs amusedly, “I don’t test people kid.”

   “Then yes, I am inviting myself to this pity party. And I am 23 as of tomorrow, I am no longer a child.”

    _Now_  he’s starting to grate on Hank.

   “Maybe not, but I’m 44. You’re still a kid to me until proven otherwise.” Hank can’t keep the sharpness out of his voice, not that he tried to, anyway.

   “...I suppose that’s true in a way. I apologize.” Connor bows his head and eats.

_Wait a minute, why the fuck doesn’t he just go sit with his brother? It’s obvious they came here to pilot together. What gives?_

   “There a reason you ain’t sitting with your brother? You said he was here, right? I’m sure you could share friends.”

   Connor takes the last bite of his food. He didn’t take nearly as much as Hank and ate much quicker than he did too. Connor stands up after swallowing.

   “We just don’t quite get along. I assume you know how siblings are. Besides, he isn’t having lunch yet, he had something he needed to do.”

   He picks up his tray and untouched cup of coffee and turns to leave. Connor drops his gaze to his feet as he makes his way to leave. He briefly pauses in front of Hank first, though, to set down his coffee in front of him, picking up the now-empty cup. Hank takes a breath to tell Connor off for assuming he needed something to drink and for treating him like a child, but Connor stops him with a half-hearted smile.

   “I don’t really drink coffee, it makes my heart rate skyrocket, and you look like you need this more than I do too.” He gestures to himself, “I’ve been thoroughly woken up already” Connor huffs in amusement at himself, and before Hank can get a word in, he walks away to put his dishes in the designated containers. He passes Hank again to leave the food court. “I hope your day gets better, Hank.”

   Hank doesn’t grace him with a response once again.

    _What a fuckin’ weird kid._

   Hank finishes his food and hungrily drinks the instant coffee, then puts his trash and dishes away. Usually after his breakfast, Hank will go back to his room as long as he isn’t needed for something because, yes, he may be an old drunkard now, but he still used to be a jaeger pilot, and a damn good one at that, so his sober words are taken very seriously. He doesn’t have anything planned for today, but he still turns left to where Jeffrey– oh excuse me,  _Marshal Fowler_ – is likely going to be in his office instead of right to the bunkers.

   There’s no way a trainee gets that beaten up during the first few days of training. Maybe later when weapon training starts, but Luther would never lay a hand that heavy on one of his students. The gentle giant is just way too passive and sweet to ever do that. Besides, Connor is definitely not the delinquent type. Although, if they’re testing baseline skill today, then that means Connor went up against his brother, and he did say they didn’t exactly get along. Still, though, why wouldn’t Luther or Chloe stop the duel if the poor kid was getting pummeled?

   Hank’s two turns away from Jeffery’s office when he hears a very familiar voice sound up from around the corner.

   “Don’t, Alex. Gavin only does this to get a rise out of people. Just keep walking.”

    _Connor knows who Gavin is? Then again, who doesn’t._

   “Keep walking?” another man’s voice, presumably Alex’s, snaps, “And let this fucker think he can push me around?! I don’t think so! I can take him on–”

   “I assure you that you can not. He is a real pilot–”

   “Aw, c’mon kid!” There’s Gavin, fuckin’ asshole, “You ran away last time, you’re really gonna run away this time too?”

   “Gavin!” Hank barks, turning around the corner. All three men snap their heads towards him. “That’s enough. Do what you were gonna do and move along.”

   “Fuckin’ Anderson!” Gavin smiles sarcastically, “Finally sober enough to walk in a straight line for once? Congratulations!”

   “Fuck off, Reed. I’m not playing your fuckin’ games today.”

   “Suit yourself, then” Gavin sneers with a cocky shrug, and moves on, leaving this Alex guy and Connor behind.

   Except that’s definitely not Connor.

   This guy has Connor’s face and Connor’s voice, but that  _can’t_  be Connor. First of all, he’s wearing a brace on his nose and, rather than having gauze/bandages on his face, Connor’s doppelganger has several bandaids and more bruises than anything. On top of that, this guy is wearing a light grey shirt with grey pants, rather than a black shirt and navy pants. When Connor said he had a brother, Hank didn’t think he meant a fuckin’ identical twin. Although, not many people would.

   “Why’d ya stop him? I could’ve taken him!” The Alex guy shoves not-Connor.

   “Alex please, you’re a fool if you think–”

   “Hey asshat. I’d knock it off.” Hank makes his way to Gavin 2.0.

   “Oh yeah? What’s an old guy like you gonna be able to do to me anyway?”

   “Get you kicked out of training faster than you can say ‘jaeger’ because my old partner is Fowler himself.” Hank pauses briefly for dramatic effect, “And it seems like you’ve already had to do some… What do they call it? ‘Intern work’? How was clearing out the pipes and shredding old papers, Alice?”

   “ _Alex_ ,” he growls.

   “I know.” Hank smirks, knowing he’s already won.”Get outta here. I imagine you’ve got somewhere to be, punk.”

   “Yes, sir.” he grits out. Alex then turns and walks down the hall and around the corner where Hank just came from.

   “Thank you Mr. Anderson. I appreciate the help with those two, they’ve already proven to be quite troublesome on their own, they’d be a nightmare if left together without proper supervision.”

   “Don’t I fuckin’ know it.” Hank hesitates, but ends up continuing anyway. “All you have to do with Gavin is show him little you’re affected by him without picking a fight. He’ll back off eventually."

   Not-Connor seems to genuinely appreciate that advice, “Oh. Thank you. It’s good to know that I’ve been doing the right thing so far.” he pauses, “I apologize for my brother, Connor, sitting at your table. I’ve tried telling him to leave you alone, but he’s rather stubborn and is very awkward around people of our age.”

   “Yeah, I gathered as much already.” Hank wants to leave the conversation now. He only wanted to shit on some people, not have an actual talk with someone who shares a face and voice with some dude who has been sitting at his table.

   “Give him a few days at most. I’m sure he’ll move on to please other people and leave you alone if you really don’t want him around. He’s stubborn, but not stupid or blind to signals of disinterest.”

   Hank almost grunts and nods to end the conversation, but thinks otherwise at the last moment. Curse his damn curiosity and possible mild concern for people’s well-being.

   “ _Please_  other people?”

   Not-Connor’s eyes widen, “Not in  _that_  sense, no. He simply hates the idea of being disliked by people.”

   “One more question for ya,” Hank suddenly feels like he’s in some cop show or something with all of these question, “Did you and Connor do this–” he gestures to not-Connor’s busted face “–to each other?”

   “Ah,” the trainee looks away in obvious discomfort, “Our instructor was seeing what our baseline strengths and skills were, and Connor and I apparently didn’t hold back enough and ended up worrying them. I just got done talking to Marshal Fowler about it, since it’ll interfere with our training for the next few days.” Not-Connor looks back to Hank, and must see something in his expression because he quickly ends the conversation.

   “My name is Ritch, by the way, and I always wear light colors and Connor only wears dark. I know we can be overbearing sometimes, especially him, so when you need him off of you for a while, feel free to call me down.” Not-Con– Ritch, nods his head to Hank in respect. “I apologize for taking up so much of your time already. I’ll be on my way. Have a good day, Mr. Anderson.”

   Hank does his signature grunt and nod, and Ritch takes that as his cue to hurry past Hank and around that same corner again. Hank stands there a moment, processing everything that he just learned. Mixing this new knowledge with his gut feeling, he’s pretty sure he’s going to be running into those twins far more than once or twice more.

    _Whelp, goodbye for now relatively peaceful meals, I already can’t wait until you return_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! This was my first time writing a fight scene (and it shows, but I can’t figure out how to fix it 😫) but I hope it wasn’t too horrible to read through 😅 I almost just skipped through that scene so I wouldn’t have to write it, but there will be a ton more action, so might as well get some practice in now so it ain’t as bad later on amirite? Well, I hope y’all liked this chapter and are liking this fic so far! I’ve got a lot planned so I’m excited! I’ll be back with next chapter before the end of the month! 😁


	3. I'll Do Better

   “What’s got your panties in a twist this time?” Tina teases with her signature smirk as Gavin sits down next to her at their table.

   “Fuck off, Tina.” Gavin shakes his head, knowing that his words don’t have the venom they would if he were to say them to anyone else.

   “Aw, come on! You look even more bothered than usual and you’re not gonna tell me what happened?” The woman doesn’t give enough time for him to reply before continuing again. “I have ten bucks in my pocket that says it has to do with the new trainees roaming around.”

   “That and Hank fuckin’ Anderson.” He begins around the food in his mouth, “Didn’t even know he could be awake at this hour anymore, let alone be sober enough to pull the ‘my old partner’s the current marshal’ card. I mean, he didn’t use it on me, but I heard him use it on one of the new fuckers.”

   “One of the trainees? What’d they do?”

  “For once in my life I was just mindin’ my own fuckin’ business, when two newbies come around the corner. Of course, I’m just trying to get to lunch, right? So I plan on just walking around them, but this kid fuckin’ tries to shoulder-check me! And when I didn’t budge he started acting like I started it!”

   “So you picked a proper fight?” Tina’s turned towards him now, engrossed in Gavin’s story.

   “No! Like I said, I just wanted some fuckin’ food! So I threatened the guy a bit and… gave a warning, you could say. I could immediately tell he had an ego larger than my ass, so I couldn’t just let him  _walk away_ , ya know?.”

   Another woman’s voice pipes up, “Wait, you said there were two trainees. What about the other one?” Gavin doesn’t know when she got here, but now she’s sitting in across from Tina.

   “It was the same dude I saw daydreaming in the hall yesterday, and he kept trying to get the other dude to just walk away like the fuckin’ coward he is. He even got the shit beat outta him sometime after dinner yesterday. He was all bandaged up and limping a bit. Anderson rounded the corner before I could even start with him.”

   “And you said he was awake, walking around,  _and_  sober earlier? Wow.” Tina leans back in her chair. “I’m impressed. That’s the second time this month he’s been sober and calm so early in the day.

   “You think he’s finally coming to terms with whatever happened to him?” Tina’s official partner– Angie? Allie? Amy? Who fuckin’ knows and who fuckin’ cares– asks, sounding genuinely hopeful for the washed up drunkard.

   Gavin barks out a harsh laugh, “Nah, there’s no way. His hangover probably just woke him up earlier than normal.”

   “What exactly do you have against him, Gav?” the same lady asks.

   “What do you mean ‘what do I have against him’? He’s done nothing but sit around on his ass drunk as hell for the past couple of years and no one’s done anything about it because he’s the ‘oh so great Pilot Anderson’ and his fuckin’ bff is the one in charge of this shit hole!” Gavin leans back in his chair with crossed arms, his food already scarfed down and tray empty. “If any of us acted the way he has been for even a month we’d be kicked out of here before we could even pack our stuff! Besides, isn’t he too fuckin’ old to pilot anymore anyway? Why in the hell is he even still here?”

   “He’s only in his early 40’s you know,” Tina informs patiently, having heard this rant a hundred times over by now, “He started going grey in his early twenties, something about genetics. Can’t imagine the stress and grief helped at all, either.”

   “ _Grief_. What could have possibly happened to make him ‘grieve’ for this long? He needs to get his shit together ‘cause he’s just dragging us down at this point.”

   Gavin lowers his head and averts his eyes, enviously thinking about how he wasn’t ever given the kind of treatment Anderson is given on a daily basis. His face must start looking softer because Tina looks at him with a sort of concern and confusion. He scowls at her and shakes his head with a huff in dismissal.

   All throughout training, each pilot is taught that no one can hold back any memories from their partner while in the drift. While that fact was usually used to keep trainees in line since everything they do will be seen by another person eventually, it was mostly true. Mostly. After certain  _things_  took place long ago, Gavin accidentally stumbled upon a way to keep memories from whoever was his partner. From the complaints he’s heard in the past, it’s just as uncomfortable for them as it is for him, if not more so. So far, only Tina has been able to put up with it more than twice. It’s actually how their friendship started a while back.

   The whole point being, that no one here truly knows his story. The people who did have either retired or were killed in action. No one knows what kind of life he had growing up, if he has siblings or not, how long he trained to be a pilot before arriving here, and nobody knows if Gavin’s “pissy, jackass attitude” is a result of something or if that’s just who he is.

   Spoiler alert: it’s just how he’s fuckin’ been his entire damn life, and he has no intentions to change any time soon. Even if Gavin wanted to, he doesn’t think he could actually change enough for it to matter, anyway.

   “You don’t know what happened!” Tina’s partner sounds thoroughly offended on Anderson’s behalf. She must be newer than he thought. “They said this started right after a particularly big battle with a kaiju, he could’ve lost family or his home!”

   “I lost my family  _and_  home when I was 17, and no one’s ever seen  _me_  moping around, constantly high as fuck and unable to do my job! ‘Cause heaven knows I wouldn’t get  _drunk_  of all things to forget my problems.”

   He must have said something wrong because the looks on both women’s faces make him feel like he’s the main attraction of a pity party. He scowls again and is about to snarl out a “ _what?_ ” when Tina finally speaks, albeit softly as if he, Gavin Reed, a man tougher and more stubborn than the most overcooked jerky, would break.

   “You were only 17 when..?”

   And just like that, it clicks.

   “No, you fucks!” he exaggeratedly rolls his eyes, “I was kicked out by my bitch-ass mother. They haven’t died or anything like that. At least, I don’t think they have…” he finished to himself.

   Both women relax, Tina already going back to her almost finished meal as if nothing happened, knowing full well that they weren’t going to get anything else out of Gavin for the rest of the week. However, her partner seems a bit more adamant on knowing the story, if the look in her eye is anything to go by. Just as she’s about to open her mouth, Gavin abruptly stands up. It’s time to get the hell outta dodge.

   “Well, as much as I’d like to say it was a pleasure talking to you asshats, I can’t.” Tina’s smirk is enough to let Gavin know that she knows he’s just messing around now. “Don’t have a sucky ass day, I guess. Or do, I’m not your fuckin’ parent.” He promptly turns with his empty tray in hand and leaves the food court area after putting everything in their designated places.

   Whenever Gavin’s worked up, going to the gym always helps. Growing up, the only way he learned to deal with his short temper is to let it out through physical exertion. When he was younger, that meant getting into fights and punching walls until he felt calm and safer to be around again. Now, though, it means going to the gym and showing anyone else who may being there how it’s done. Not only does he feel better about himself– punching the nearest person or thing has ever done well on his conscience after all was said and done, despite what other people seem to think– he also gets some of the best scores in physical strength and fighting skill from his admittedly excessive training. To be completely honest, those high scores are probably the only thing keeping him here at this point.

   Gavin takes his sweet, precious time getting to the gym. He meanders through the endless, reinforced halls until he gets to his room. They placed him right across from Tina’s room since she’s the only one who can tolerate him and is the only one Gavin doesn’t regularly want to deck in the throat. Even though she has an official partner now, that girl’s still relatively new and Tina is better a match for the drift with Gavin than anyone else is. Now that he thinks about it, he may not be able to slack off like Anderson, but he can admit that the higher-ups of this place have done a lot more to keep him here than they likely would have for anyone else. Not even  _he_  had to do “intern work” for Fowler during his training days, and it’s that one assbag’s second day here and he’s already managed to fuck it up.

   He changes into his work out clothes rather quickly and grabs the wraps for his hands. He put them on expertly faster than he thinks he’s seen anyone else do it on the way, but that’s probably due to him doing this much more often than anyone else he knows. Gavin’s about to turn into the gym when he hears the voice of that daydreaming coward coming from around the corner.

   “Connor, would you stop your whining. Do you want what happened today in class to happen again?”

    _Color me intrigued_. Gavin quickly backtracks to hide behind one of the support beams on the wall. He wants to know what happened during their class, because he has a feeling it has to do with how fucked up the guy was this morning.

   “No I don’t,” the same voice replies? Is he talking to himself? Is this another case of ‘ _Fight Club_ ’? “But we just got told to lie down and relax today since our hands are too damaged to hold pens. I don’t think it’s wise to go in there in case–”

   “–In case we’re found here while this injured, I  _know_.” Well, it’s definitely not the same person, since there were clearly two voices talking over each other then. “You’ve only said that a million times now. We’re allowed to be in here, we just won’t be using the equipment.”

   Gavin takes a chance to lean his head out and look at whoever is talking. He immediately recognises daydreamer on the left, wearing his light grey shirt, and who is apparently his identical twin wearing a black shirt. The doppelganger– apparently named Connor– looks worse off than his twin.

   These pilot wannabes just got here recently, right? So they must have been paired up for the initial evaluation and roughed each other up good. Maybe the twink-looking asshole Gavin keeps running into isn’t a coward at all. Maybe he’s just confident that he could win in a fight against him. Although, that doesn’t explain why he was so certain that Gavin could win against that other fucker– was it Alex?– in a brawl just earlier.

   Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum both enter the gym, still continuing on with their conversation, and Gavin takes that as his cue to follow them inside.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

   “I still think we shouldn’t hold back around the instructors. They’re here to evaluate us and such, right?” Connor asks, still very much concerned about hiding things from the people who are above them in rank. What if they get caught holding back and get punished for it? Connor doesn’t even want to think about the times that had happened while training with Amanda, let alone repeat it.

   “Yes, but if we don’t hold back, then they’ll probably make us graduate much earlier than the rest of our class, which means less time to find new partners.” Ritch hisses at him.

   Connor just sighs, knowing he’s right but not liking to go behind instructors’ backs, even for something as important as this. Ritch likely knows what kind of war is going on in his head right now, which is probably why he’s being much more patient than usual with him today.

   “I know you don’t like this, even though you’re usually the one eager to find loopholes in the rules, but it’s necessary.”

   “I know. You’re right, as always.” Connor relents finally, sitting down in the far corner of the gym where it be obvious that they’re just sitting there, watching everyone else train and work out so they can get a feel for how much they should be holding back for now.

   A few minutes pass of silently watching a man on a treadmill, another at a punching bag, and a woman lifting weights before Connor leans over to speak into Ritch’s ear.

   “Are we going to match their skill? Or are we going to try going weaker than them?”

   “We’ll see. But after the show we put on earlier, I don’t think we can pull off playing as too much weaker than these people without the others becoming suspicious.” he answers immediately, eyes never leaving the tiring man on the treadmill.

   Connor nods silently, leaning back into his own space again. It isn’t long until Ritch is leaning over to whisper in his ear, this time.

   “Do you see the guy at the punching bag?”

   “Yes?” Connor confirms, watching the man go to town on the hanging bag.

   His technique is very good and he has a lot of power behind each punch. It’s obvious that he’s a lot tougher and stronger than he looks, not unlike Ritch and himself. Connor wonders if Ritch is going to suggest matching with him. It wouldn’t be a good idea at all, seeing as how he seems to be at almost the same level as them without holding back. Plus, judging by the scars littered about his face and arms, he has real experience in combat, which gives him a leg up on the twins and any other trainees.

   “That’s Gavin Reed. He’s trouble, so just try your best to avoid and ignore him. I’ve already run into him twice and both times he’s tried to pick a fight with me.”

   That wasn’t what Connor was expecting.

   “Really? It hasn’t even been 24 hours yet.”

   “Yea. The first time he shoulder checked me while I was walking on the correct half of the hallway while he was going the opposite way, and the second time happened just before lunch. Apparently Alex bumped into him but he–” he nods to Gavin “–was adamant on finishing what was started. Mr. Anderson had to come and diffuse the situation.”

   Connor turns to face Ritch. “Mr. Anderson was there?”

   “Yes.”

   “Did he seem okay? He appeared to have a terrible hangover this morning at lunch, and I’m sure any yelling that was happening wasn’t helping.”

   Now Ritch turns to him. “Why do you care? He hasn’t been in a jaeger in years. Unless you became much more attached to who he once was than I thought.”

   Connor huffs out what could be considered a growl and turns back to Gavin, “Can’t a guy just care about someone’s health?”

   “Not you.” Ritch follows Connor’s gaze, “When you ‘care about someone’s health’, it’s one of the first signs that you’re getting attached to someone, and I really don’t believe that Mr. Anderson is someone you should be getting attached to.”

   “Why do you think that?” Immediately defensive.

   “People talk, and he isn’t–.”

   “Just like how they used to talk about us?”

   “This is different than us.”

   “How so?”

   Ritch sharply turns back to his twin, irritation causing his eyebrows to set even lower and his jaw even sharper than usual. “Look, I don’t give a damn about who you imprint on or whatever on anymore. I am trying to help you out here, because unlike the times people have talked about us, what people are saying about Mr. Anderson are all factual and we’ve both seen the proof. You need to lay off of him because not everyone feels the incessant need to not be alone.”

   Connor finally allows himself to snap back. “Maybe you’re wrong this time. Yes, he drinks and he’s a miserable human being who doesn’t like other people, but how do we know that just who he is? What if he’s just like how we were way back in the orphanage, where everyone treated us like glass or ruined goods all the time? What if he wants–  _needs_  someone to be fuckin’ normal around him for a change to bring him out of his pit, and no one is there?”

   “If he wanted someone, he would have found someone. He had plenty of friends before he started this!” Ritch raises his voice from a whisper, and Connor can already tell that this isn’t going to end well, especially since he isn’t going to roll over on his stomach this time.

   “ _We_  had plenty of friends too, but they just didn’t understand once the found out, huh? They ended up just making things worse until all we had was each other. And there’s the thing! We still had one other person who understood! We had each other! And we never remembered whatever trauma we’ve been through! He remembers it probably like it was yesterday and he is completely alone!”

   “This isn’t a fairy tale, Connor! This is real life, and in real life you can’t just swoop in and save the depressed, rumored suicidal alcoholic through the magical power of friendship!”

   “I don’t  _plan_  on saving anyone!” Connor shouts. The entire room becomes silent all of a sudden. He takes that moment to take a breath and continue at a normal speaking volume, “This is what you and everyone else don’t understand. I don’t want to  _save_  or  _fix_  people! I just want to them realize that there’s still hope for a somewhat normal life after their entire world shifted on its axis!” Connor takes another breath, recognizing that the three people in the room are no longer hiding the fact that they’re listening to him.

   “I know I’ve said before that people can’t ‘fix’ or ‘save’ other people. They can only ever offer hope and a sense normality among the chaos and hope that person finds enough of their own strength to fix themselves. And go ahead and make fun of me for being ‘naive’ or whatever you want. This is what I’ve always thought and this is the  _one_  thing I will not let anyone change about me. Now, I want to take a nap. Good day.”

   With that, Connor calmly makes his way across the gym area, a contradiction to the anger showing on his face and burning in his chest. He needs to go calm down, and the best way to do that is to curl up in calm, quiet place. He nods a silent greeting to the supposed troublemaker, Gavin Reed, on his way towards the door. Mostly to spite Ritch, but also because the guy had a really good form and strength to back it up, and that deserves some kind of acknowledgement in Connor’s opinion.

    Connor vaguely hears his name being called by Ritch as he steps out of the gym area, and normally that would be enough to make him pause, which then gives him think over the argument. Nine times out of ten, during this process of thinking things over, his brain somehow convinces himself that the entire fight was his fault and the person won’t forgive him. This time, though, he doesn’t pause. He doesn’t give his messed up head a chance to twist things on him. Connor knows he’s right this time, and he’s not going to allow himself to bow down to Ritch about this topic. In this case, bowing down to Ritch would be the equivalent of bowing down to Amanda.

   No matter how far Connor was pushed during training as punishments, he never let her think she brainwashed that part of him, and she had not gone easy on him whatsoever.

   Call him naive, childish, innocent, too optimistic, whatever. He’s heard all of that and much more and much worse from countless people. He likes to give people the benefit of the doubt, he likes giving people second and sometimes third chances (but never a fourth), he likes to think that most people in the world don’t mean to do harm, and if they do they have a solid reason behind it. This way of thinking is the only thing that keeps him going some days, and on the days he’d temporarily forgotten how to maintain that mindset were the days that not even threats from Amanda could get him out of his bed. Mr. Anderson may have been able to get away with staying in bed most days, but that’s because he was once a decorated jaeger pilot. Connor is barely an official trainee, he can’t afford any more missed time.

   “Connor!”

   The familiar, gruff voice snaps him out of his thoughts. It doesn’t sound like that’s the first time he’s tried calling Connor, either.

   “I apologise Mr. Anderson,” He starts with, turning on his heel quickly to not keep the older man waiting for his full attention a moment longer, “I was a bit lost in my head for a few moments. I won’t let it happen again.”

   Mr. Anderson makes a face that falls between scowling and confusion, “Must’ve been deeper in there than you thought ‘cause this ain’t close to any place you’re supposed to be.”

   Looking around, he’s right. Connor doesn’t recognise these walls at all; there are different pipes and the floors are a slightly different texture than the rougher, more worn down metal or concrete of the other places he’s seen. He’s definitely in a bunker area, though, just not anywhere he’s been before, which means he’s probably in the area meant for more experienced pilots. Their bunkers are placed closest to the jaeger loading docks for faster take off. Connor must have taken a wrong turn at some point, still not completely used to this place’s layout.

   It was probably for the best, though, since the first place Ritch would surely check for him is their room (especially since he claimed that he was going to take a nap), and he doesn’t want a repeat of what happened in the gym nor a chance to submit to his brother for the sake of ending the fight. Both options are equally possible at this current moment, so plan “get back to the dorm to calm down in the quiet” changes to plan “avoid Ritch while finding a good place to calm down in”.

   “Fucks sake, Connor!” Mr. Anderson calls again, once more sounding like that wasn’t the first thing he’s said to the younger man since they’d run into each other.

   Connor immediately tenses, not liking when people (besides Ritch and Amanda, he’s gotten used to them) start raising their voices at him, and snaps out of his thoughts again. Here he is, causing problems and inconveniences for people again, just like the fuck up he’s been lately. He needs to find a calm, peaceful place to relax sooner rather than later; he can’t be in public any longer like this.

   “I’m sorry,” Connor takes a step back, then another, all while curling into himself, “I must have taken a wrong turn, I truly apologize for taking up your time,” He takes a few more steps back, not lifting his gaze from the ground, “I’m sorry, I’ll leave now. Sorry–” Connor finishes weakly and darts out of the area, giving Mr. Anderson no chance to say anything to him.

   He tries to force his head to stay in the real world so he can actually register where is and find out where he’s going. He speed walks through the huge jaeger storage room, easily dodging all of the busy people moving about and doing their jobs. After a particular quick change in direction to avoid the woman with her nose in her clipboard, Connor is painfully aware that his leg is still throbbing from this morning despite the painkillers he was given.

   At the reminder of the training room, the still injured man quickly finds a safe spot to stand in then checks the time. He hadn’t realised how much time has passed since lunch, and he isn’t sure how long of the past 2 and a half hours were spent in the gym people watching and how much of it was spent wandering around aimlessly. He supposes it doesn’t matter at the moment, since the training room should be empty by now, since everyone should be taking the written part of the exam so they can get a break from the physical exertion.

    _Wait, keep your head, Connor_ , he chides himself,  _focus on getting to the training area. It should be calm there for at least a while longer. Keep your head in the real world_.

   Repeating that last sentence to himself over and over again while taking detailed notes on his environment to help keep hiss focus, Connor eventually makes it to the vacant room successfully. No one else tried to stop him or talk to him. No one else seemed to take any particular note of him at all. There was no sign of Mr. Anderson, Gavin Reed, or Ritch that he’d been able to find. He’ll be safe here.

   The first thing he does when he enters the room is rescan his surroundings in an effort to find the best spot to spend likely over an hour in. He decides to camp in the left corner of the room, leaning against the wall the doorway he entered from is on. A minute or so of sitting and bouncing his leg and tapping his fingers pass before Connor decides to do some stretching. Yoga has always been his guilty pleasure and one of the few things that calmed him down completely. Besides, Amanda never complained about him being more flexible during fights. She said it complimented Ritch’s solid rigidness in his technique.

    _Why does every little thing bounce back to her? Stop that. She’s gone now, so stop thinking about her. Stop thinking…_

   He isn’t sure when he fell asleep, or how many positions he stretched in before drifting off, but he knows he’s been in the Child’s Pose for a fair amount of time, if the pin pricks in his calves and feet and the deep ache in his knees and back have anything to say about that. With a quiet grunt, he rolls onto his back and straightens out his body, trying to stretch out all of the aching joints and muscles. Connor doesn’t think it would be as bad if was his entire body that ached, because then it would be easier to ignore it and move on.

   “Oh shit. Connor, what are you doing in here?” North asks, making Connor jump (it certainly does not help with the pain in his spine).

   Connor should have realized that he wasn’t alone in the room. With how tired he was, and still is, there’s no way he would have woken up on his own while the sun was still up.

   Connor notes the random sounds of concern and confusion and the footsteps growing closer to him. He decides to go with sarcasm and humor, rather than the blunt truth. He’s already caused enough inconveniences today, and he knows this group well enough to know that they won’t somehow be offended by it.

   “Oh, you know. Just doing yoga. I don’t recommend falling asleep in the middle of a pose though…” Connor fails to cover a groan as he sits up. His legs have gotten a bit better, but his back and ankles certainly haven’t yet. “Yea, definitely not the best position to fall asleep in.”

   Markus offers a hand to lift him up to his feet, and Connor gladly takes it. “Why are you doing yoga in here of all places? If you don’t mind my asking, of course.”

   “I didn’t even know you did yoga,” Josh jumps in.

   Connor elects to ignore Markus’ question for the time being, “It’s always been a guilty pleasure of mine, and once my… Once the person who was taking care of Ritch and I figured out I was doing yoga in my spare time instead of doing extra studying, she didn’t actively try to stop me.” He starts leaning and twisting his torso in different directions to try to undo his back damage, grimacing at how it pulls at some of the bandages and injuries on his torso. “She actually said that my flexibility and fluidity in fights complimented Ritch’s rigid and solid form.”

   “Jesus,” Simon breaths out, “The way you and Ritch describe– Amanda was it?” Connor nods, “Makes it seem like she wasn’t your stepmother at all.”

   You’d think Connor would learn to think before replying.

   “That’s because she really wasn’t.” He finally straightens up for good. “I think she only adopted us because we said we wanted to become jaeger pilots when we grew up. Well, I did, anyway.” Connor adds that last part softly, massaging his palm with his thumb.

   “Wait,” Josh blurts, “You said her name was Amanda?”

   “Yes?” Why does Josh look like he’s found the last piece to a 500 part jigsaw puzzle?

   “Amanda, as in, Amanda Stern? Do you share her last name?”

   Seeing how everyone’s eyes light up confuses Connor even more. He’s definitely missing something here.

   “Yes? Have you met her before or something?”

   “Have we  _met her_!?” North suddenly shouts, “Are you kidding me!? Only a small group of people have  _met_  her, everyone else just knows of her and her work! She’s a fucking legend among the jaeger pilot and special forces trainers! She always trains the best fighters! No wonder you two are so far out of our league! Especially if you’ve been in her care for so long!”

   “I didn’t realise she was popular.”

   “She’s more than just popular. She’s downright famous within the jaeger and military community.” Simon corrects.

   “I’m actually shocked you didn’t know. Did you never question what those gatherings were, as you and Ritch call them?” Josh asks.

   “Uh, no? If we asked dumb questions it’d usually lead to more work the next day, so neither of us wanted to ask. We just knew that rich people came over for conversation and drinks and we had to stay out of the way unless spoken to.”

   Markus seems to snap out of his silent contemplation then, “More work for asking dumb questions. A life wearing nothing but uniforms and sleepwear, little to no toys and electronics growing up despite her having the funds for more than plenty. That mixed with how you guys are pretty much soldiers already and claim to have learned most of it on your own… She does not sound like someone who deserves the high praise she gets. It all sounds questionable at best.”

   “Oh! No no, it wasn’t like that,”  _Right?_  “She wasn’t a bad person, she just liked having things a certain way and was very determined to get it that way. It’s actually somewhat commendable, if not a bit off-putting. We just weren’t good enough pilots for her in the beginning, is all.”

   Whatever Markus is thinking about, Simon catches on too. Maybe they have the telepathy thing, too. “Were you and Ritch holding back this morning?”

   Connor doesn’t know where this is going, but he doesn’t like it.

   “What do you mean? We were told to go all out so we could be evaluated properly.”

   “That’s what you were told to do,” Markus puts a kind hand on his shoulder, “But did you actually?”

   “No. We held back.” Ritch’s voice says from the doorway, having just popped in “We had to be at least a little more gentle than usual because we were on those thin mats, and not mud or thicker foam like we’re used to. But after seeing everyone else’s skill levels this morning, we decided it would be best to blend in and hold back more.”

   “Ritch! We had to keep that hidden! What if Luther and Chloe find out?!” Connor steps towards his brother, causing Markus’ hand to fall from his shoulder.

   “I see no reason to hide that from this group.” Ritch remains as stoic and unbothered as always. “They’ve proven themselves to be trustworthy, and at least two of them had already figured it out. It’d be more effort to try to continue hiding it from them.” Seeing that his twin was going to try to retort, Ritch continues, “Why are you getting upset? There’s no reason to be.”

    Connor has to curl his hands into fists and clench his jaw to keep the angered words and growls from leaving his mouth. It doesn’t help in the slightest that he never got to properly calm down from the fight earlier.

   “What brings you here, Ritch?” he asks calmly.

   “Well, you kind of stormed out earlier.”

   “That generally means that person doesn’t want to be in the other’s presence anymore.”

   “Oh would you stop being a child for two seconds and come with me to eat dinner.”

   Connor sharply looks to the side, “I’ll be there in a few. Go ahead without me.” He continues as Ritch opens his mouth to say something, “And if you just stay here and wait for me I will purposely skip dinner and breakfast tomorrow. And you know I’ve lasted longer without food before and it won’t faze me.”

   “And you know it won’t faze me either.”

   “Won’t it?” Connor usually lasted just over three days without food before giving in during Amanda’s “survival evaluation”s. Ritch only lasted one on average.

   There’s a heavy, tense silence where Connor is painfully aware of the other four’s presence, and that they have no clue what to make of this or how to handle it. Thankfully, Ritch caves first with a sigh.

   “I don’t want you near Mr. Anderson.”

   “Good thing you’re not my guardian or superior then.”

   “He is though.”

   “And he hasn’t kicked me off of his table yet. And don’t even claim that he could be holding back just to be polite, we both know he isn’t like that.”

   Another silence, less tense and much shorter this time, though. Yet it’s broken by Ritch’s sigh once more.

   “Fine.” He snaps, shaking his head, “It’s your life, your downfall, your embarrassment, and your panic attack when he comes to dislike you.” He turns around and starts walking out of the room. He doesn’t pause as he calls over his shoulder, “Don’t come crying to me this time. This will be all your doing, and I am not your guardian.”

   “Wasn’t going to.” the other half calls back.

   Well that was a disaster. Well, not so much of a  _disaster_  as a wreckage of notable size. Here Connor was, thinking that it would be himself that would ruin his relationship with Markus, North, Josh, and Simon, but oh no. No, it was going to be Ritch that destroyed it in the end. The asshat.

    _Whelp, time to do some damage control._

   “I am so sorry you guys had to see that–”

   “Are you two like this all the time?” Josh interrupts.

   His question makes him freeze and stummblr over his previous thought. Why would he care how he and Ritch act around one another?

   “Yes and no? I mean, when we’re not talking business we’re either doing our own thing and leaving each other alone or fighting, but usually our arguments don’t last this long. It’s usually solved one way or another by now.” Connor takes a deep breath, and finally relaxes his fists and stature, not realizing he was tense for a fight. He turns to the group that is now cautious, not unlike treading on eggshells, but not treating him as if he were delicate or unpredictable. More like unsteady, if he was forced to choose a word. “You guys know how siblings are, after all. This will pass.”

   No one says or indicates anything. Are siblings not usually like this? He can’t think of a time they weren’t business or nothing, even before Amanda adopted them.

   Markus takes a step forward. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but were you and Ritch pitted against each other often?”

   Connor almost considers leaving the room right then, making use of the out he was given. He’s been talking way too much today, anyway; he feels the way his throat is getting hoarse with how much he’s been using his voice. On top of that, he just doesn’t want to go into detail about the fights. He doesn’t want their opinions of him or Ritch to change because of what they’ve done in the past. Although, if his twin didn’t feel waiting until they were alone to continue their dispute, then why should Connor spare them of this?

   Besides, it’s not like the disagreement where they obviously didn’t want to be here. Markus is literally asking him for the second time, and the others are looking at him with a mixture of anticipation and sympathy. That, and Markus didn’t ask for details. He phrased it like a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ question, but they’re obviously expecting something more substantial than that. This brings up another point, though.

   “I was under the impression that everyone fought against their partner in order to train. It helps both trainees’ styles to be either complementary to one another or near identical, and it helps them think in the same way during fights, too. Did you guys not spar against each other regularly?”

   “There’s a slight difference between sparring against your partner and being pitted against them, Connor.” North responds this time, uncharacteristically subdued.

   “Well, yea…” There are so many regrets right now. After this, he’s just not going to talk anymore. It’s not worth it.

   Simon takes a slow step forward, watching his reaction, “Stop me if I’m going too far, but were you guys ever told to fight with the intentions to harm each other, rather than just to train? ‘Cause that is usually considered illeg–”

    _–hand in his hair, boot digging into his back. He can’t breathe, he may as well be drowning on the mud he’s being pushed into–_

   “No.” he says with a sharp shake of his head. Whether it’s an answer to Simon’s question or a reaction to his thoughts, not even Connor himself knows.

    _–he takes the knife from his leg, wincing and hissing as it tears through–_

    _No._

    _–loses his grip, causing him to be pinned again. He can’t move his arm. Why can’t he move his arm?–_

    _No, no no no no no–_

    _–it’s cold in summer..? Why is his vision so blurry? Wait, why is he alone now? No, wait! Don’t leave me! Please! I’ll do better! I promise I’ll do bet–_

   “Connor?!”

   Connor finally snaps out of it with a small gasp, realizing that his vision really is getting blurry, but for a different reason. Crying is extremely disgraceful and impolite, especially in front of others. You have to be on your best behavior in front of people. He straightens and relaxes his posture, using a single knuckle to wipe the threatening tears in the corners of his eyes. It’s now that he realizes that he was beginning to hyperventilate. He needs a minute to be alone and calm himself, but he doesn’t want to be left alone. He really doesn’t want to be left alone–

   Ah, but he isn’t alone right now. Besides that,  _they_  won’t be leaving  _him_ , it’ll be the other way around, so maybe there’s a chance they won’t completely avoid him in the future. Although, for now, he needs to be fine, and his small group of allies certainly don’t see him as fine right now. He needs to calm down. He’s making a fool of himself in front of them. He needs to reassure them that he’s fine. He’ll be fine. He’ll definitely be fine–

   “Connor..?”

   “I apologize for the way I reacted just then.” Manners are key, especially when forced to cut a conversation short. He bows his head with practiced grace, “And to answer your question, no, we weren’t ever told to fight each other with such an intent. Honestly. Ah, you guys came in here earlier for a reason and here I am getting in the way. My apologies.” Markus opens his mouth to speak, but Connor doesn’t give him time. “Thank you for your company, though.”

   “Connor, I’m sorry for asking–”

    _No no no. Can’t think of that. Don’t think._  It  _never happened. It was just a bad dream. Of course it was a bad dream. Amanda said so. Ritch said so. Amanda may lie, but Ritch doesn’t. Does he?_

   “No no, you’re quite alright. If anything it’s my fault.”  _It always is, you dumb fuck–_  “It’s natural for people to be curious, and it really wasn’t that bad. I simply have a habit of over reacting to things.” Connor tries to make his following laugh sound genuine, but falls short. “Well, I should go now. Dinner must be in full swing by now and you still have business to attend to. I’m already looking forward to speaking with you again soon.”

   Connor finally manages to shuffle out of the room, but he never makes it to dinner that night. Despite what he just claimed, he can’t ever talk to them ever again. People hate when others are large burdens, and that’s exactly what he’s becoming. He thought he could be better with fresh, new faces, but apparently it doesn’t work that way. It’s not how it works.

   Ritch was right. He probably needs to start leaving Mr. Anderson alone. He understands now. Maybe he can still sit there to be alone? But why would he still remain here just to be alone? He can’t even handle casual friends, how would he find a partner? And Connor’s replaceable in a way the ex-pilot is not, so they would not be patient with him.

   Does that mean he needs to quit? What would he do if not this? He’s the reason Ritch is even here in the first place. He’s the reason Ritch will be stuck in this life style he never particularly wanted. Why can’t Connor ever do anything right? Everyone is right, he’s too naive, too childish, too quick to get into things. It needs to stop. He’ll pack his things tomorrow and leave tomorrow evening or the next morning, whenever Ritch isn’t around. If Ritch finds out he’ll definitely blame Connor and make him stay with him as payback or something. Connor can’t stay, though. He’s useless.

   The door opens with a creek, causing Connor to instinctively curl into himself, but he forces himself to relax and slow his breathing. If Ritch thinks he’s asleep, he’ll leave him alone. With every footstep, Connor wants to run and hide, or at least twist around to see where he’s at so he can anticipate an attack of some kind. They’ve been arguing all day and a good chunk of yesterday too, it’d only make sense for Ritch to try something like that.

   Instead of doing so, though, the twin simply changes into sleeping clothes, if the rustle of cloth is anything to go by, and climbs into bed. The main light was never turned on, the room coated in darkness from the start, but there’s a click and a soft, yellow light floods the room. It stays on for an hour or so before Connor hears him shifting around. Ritch climbs out of the bed and sounds like he’s about to put on his real clothes again, but pauses in the process.

   “Connor.” The man in question can hear the stern frown in his twin’s voice. He uses all of his self control to not jump because of it, but it apparently wasn’t good enough. “Connor, I know you’re up. Why didn’t you eat?” that same stern frown is likely still on his face.

   Connor doesn’t move, hoping that if he keeps up the act and ignores his racing heart and sweating pores, Ritch will convince himself that he was just seeing things.

   “Connor, if you weren’t up before, I know you would have been up by now. Why weren’t you in the food court? The other four were.”

   No response. He remembers what he said before in the training room, he doesn’t want to talk to anyone anymore. It just makes things worse.

   “Fine. Be a child. I don’t care. I’m not putting up with this shit anymore.”

    _No, wait, please don’t leave. I take it back, I’ll get better at talking so I can do it without messing up, like you can. I’ll teach myself how to respond better so I don’t have to worry about making things worse anymore. I’m sorry. I don’t want you to hate me. I don’t want anyone to hate me. I don’t want to be alone anymore. Please–_

   “Connor?” Footsteps. “Are you crying? What’s wrong?” If Connor didn’t know better, he’d almost say that Ritch sounded concerned.

   The slightly shorter twin takes a deep, shaky breath so he can speak without too many tremors in his voice. “I’m not crying.” Another, shorter breath. “It’s impolite, especially in front of people.” The next breath is shakier, and definitely a give away that he’s slowly failing his attempt at not crying. “I’m fine. You need rest.”

   “Connor–”

   “You’re not my guardian. You don’t need to babysit me. Just let me self destruct like you said you would. It’s not even anything serious. Goodnight.”

   “ _Connor_ …”

   He doesn’t respond.

   There’s a shuffle of Ritch probably sitting down on the bed as he asks, “Did they ask more questions?”

   “Yes, but you were there for them.” Maybe he’ll let him go to sleep if he plays along.

   “Was that the only thing they asked?”

   Connor huffs out a short breath, “ _Yes_.”

   “What did they ask?”

   Connor finally makes himself sit up. “Ritch, I just said–”

   “ _Connor_.” If a tone of voice could paralyze, Connor would be a goner.

   The twin in question sighs. “If I tell you, would you let me sleep?”

   “Depends on what I’m told and if it’s a lie or not.”

   Connor hesitates.

   “…if I promise to tell the truth, will you leave me alone?”

   “Depends on what the truth is.”

   “Then no.”

   Ritch jumps up from where he sat on his lower bunk. “ _Connor_! I swear to god–”

   “They brought it up, okay? Fuck, you happy now?”

   “Brought what up, Connor? Use your words–”

   “ _It_. They asked a question that made me think of when  _it_  happened. And I know you aren’t as affected by it as I am, but I can’t handle anything like you can. I just can’t…” Connor finally lets himself fall back down on his bed.

   This time, Ritch is the one that doesn’t have a response. Good. Let him think about  _it_. Let him suffer just like Connor was trying to avoid because he’s a nosy prick.

   “I am going to bed now. Good. Night.”

   Ritch heaves a deep sigh. “I’m sorry. I can talk to them about it tomorrow, try to calm them down. They’re probably very worried about you or both of us now.”

   Connor grunts. They should be worried, but he knows that it would only make things worse for himself in the long run.

   “Connor” Another grunt. “Please try to eat something tomorrow. I’ll talk to Luther to see if you can take tomorrow off. I’m sure he’ll understand.”

   Another grunt, this time followed by a heavy sigh. He won’t be getting that break. Even if he did, he’ll be more likely put in the danger zone of being sent home. If he can’t even handle being here for two days without becoming so completely and utterly useless, then what business does he have trying to be a fully-fledged pilot? None, that’s the answer.

   He was distantly aware that Ritch started trying to talk to him again, but Connor really just wanted to go to sleep and forget about today, and so he did. He assumes his twin went to bed soon after he did, though, because when he tries to wake Connor up while getting ready for breakfast the next morning, he appears to be relatively well rested. No obvious dark circles or bags under his eyes, no sluggish movements, his eyes clear. That’s good. Ritch will do just fine here. He knows how to talk and respond well. He’ll definitely find a partner in no time.

   Ritch walks out the door, on his way to breakfast. Connor’s still in bed by the time it ends and the first class begins. No one comes to get him. He’s not surprised, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t still sting. He tries to convince himself that it’s just because Ritch told everyone that he needs a day off, but, if anything, that makes the sting in his chest worse. Instead, he goes to his dresser drawer and pulls out the small bottle of strong sleeping essential oil that Ritch and Amanda have no clue he has, let alone needs often enough to maybe be unhealthy, that’s stuffed in the back under some clothes. He rubs a bit of it onto his foot and pulling a sock on (he doesn’t want that horrendous smell getting all over his sheets). His head doesn’t even quite make it onto the pillow properly before he’s out like a light.

   Sleeping means no thinking which means no stressing, after all, and that oil does a  _damn_  good job at knocking people out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Sorry about the long wait! I promise future updates won’t take this long! I’m just in the middle of a move and life kinda bitch slapped me outta no where there for a hot minute, but I think things are going better now. The next update probably won’t be as soon as I want it to be, but y’all won’t have to wait four months again Lol. Thank you to anyone who stuck around this long, despite me being new Heheh 😄 Thank you for reading and I hoped y’all didn’t hate it!! I absolutely promise that next chapter will be filled with lots of comfort and fluff!! 😄💖💕


	4. Beginnings of Adaptation

   Ritch knows even before he tries to wake Connor up for breakfast at that it won’t work. After a day as bad as yesterday, the twin rarely comes out of his room the next day, and if he does it’s late in the afternoon at the earliest. Yet Ritch still always tries.

   He’s is aware that Connor is only more used to dealing with hunger because he occasionally feels the irrational need to punish himself like this for no reason. He understands needing alone time to recharge and such after stressful events, but Connor needs to at least eat or drink something rather than letting himself slowly deteriorate. Ritch idly wonders how many times Connor has gone longer than three days without food for one dumb reason or another.

   He thought his brother might not run into this problem when finally away from Amanda, though.

   Although, to be fair, a portion of Connor’s situation is Ritch’s own fault. He’s not too prideful to admit that to himself. To Connor or anyone else, most likely, but not himself. He just thought that since Amanda wasn’t here, his brother would get steered down the wrong path or overwhelmed or both, so Ritch tried to step in and guide him in her place, albeit a bit more gently than she would. That was obviously the wrong move to make, and it didn’t help that he went about it the wrong way, too, he realises now. He’ll remember that for the future.

   He still doesn’t want Connor near Mr. Anderson, but he’ll be more gentle and subtle about it from now on. He’ll also try to fix the relationship with Simon and the others that his twin undoubtedly made at least awkward again. It won’t be too far out of Ritch’s way to do so, since he plans on continuing his friendship with that group, and it would be easier for the brothers if Connor had other people he’s on good terms with in class. That and Ritch  _really_  doesn’t trust Mr. Anderson with Connor, with him being a grumpy, short tempered, alcoholic who can barely get out of bed before the later part of lunch, and Ritch thinks his brother can’t quite see this due to the rose-tinted memories of when he was a pilot on the news.

   Either way, nothing can be done about any of that at the moment, especially considering breakfast hasn’t even quite started yet. He was only trying to wake up Connor earlier with the hope that he won’t spend the entire day going hungry and sleeping like he always has on days like these. Right now, though, Ritch is heading to where he may be able to find Luther and Chloe to alert them of Connor’s tardiness or absence today.

   “...well, we’ll just have to apologize again today, then, won’t we?”

   Isn’t that North? Judging by where the voices are coming from, they’re headed to breakfast and will pass Ritch if he backtracks to the main hallway. That’s exactly what he does.

   “Again, I don’t think that’s the right way to go about things,” Markus reasons, “He obviously doesn’t want to be reminded about whatever he was thinking about yesterday, and apologizing for it today will only make him think about it again.”

   “Yes, but I think just looking at us will remind him of yesterday, anyway.” Simon points out.

   “Simon’s right.” Ritch calls, stepping out to intercept the small group.

   “Oh, hey Ritch…” Josh greets nervously. Ritch elects to ignore it.

   “The best thing to do in this case is to act as if last night never happened at all. He’ll be awkward for the first bit of time, but he should go back to normal eventually.”

   “We’re really sorry–”

   “There’s no reason to apologize, Simon.” Ritch interrupts, “You guys were just curious and concerned for him, and I had already made it stressful enough beforehand. I’m sure that if I hadn’t pushed him as far as I did, he wouldn’t have reacted quite this way when you guys asked your questions.”

   There’s a brief awkward pause where no one knows what to say, so Ritch decides to continue on.

   “I guess just… From now on, if you have any questions, you can always come to me. We grew up together after all.”

   “Oh, sweet. So were you guys ever ordered to kill each other or something, then?”

    _–the punches come and come and won’t ever stop–_

_Stop it, head! It was just a bad dream!_

   “ _North_!”

    _–where is he where is he wheRE IS HE WHERE–_

_Fucking– STOP!!_

   “What? He said we could ask him! And quite frankly, I don’t believe Connor!”

    _Phew. That was not pleasant._  Ritch takes in a deep breath and holds it.

   “That doesn’t mean you get to ask  _him_  too! If it was sensitive to Connor, it probably is for him too! Why don’t you use your head for once, North!”

    _Jesus… Were they that blunt with Connor? No wonder why he’s the way he is right now. He had it worse than I did._  He finally releases his breath, properly calmed down.

   “Ritch? Are you okay?” Markus asks, taking a step forward with an expression of pure concern.

   “Probably.” He answers too fast.

   “Probably?” Markus tilts his head slightly.

   “It’d be best if you avoided any questions of that type indefinitely, because even Connor and I avoid discussing such things with each other. And if there are any other questions that any of you may be risky to ask, it’d be best to ask me.” Josh and Simon are just about to apologise when Ritch cuts them off. “But to answer your question, North, Amanda knew better than to break laws like that.”  _Most of the time, anyway_ , he doesn’t add.

   “Oh. Sorry ‘bout that.” She seems genuinely regretful.

   “I appreciate it, just please don’t be so blunt with Connor. He picks up hints easily, even when you don’t know you’re giving them. He likely won’t be in class today, so I can’t show you his little tells of his attentiveness. Ah, which reminds me, I need to let Luther and Chloe know that he won’t be here.” He quickly turns and starts walking away, knowing better than to give this group a chance to try to distract him again by now. “I’ll see you guys at breakfast?” he calls over his shoulder.

   Josh replies with forced enthusiasm, “Yeah! We’ll see you then!”

   This time, Ritch doesn’t stop until he finds Luther in his office preparing for the day. He found Chloe several minutes before him, but she seemed busy and he didn’t want to bother her with a small message such as this. When he gives Luther the brief rundown of what kind of state Connor is in, Ritch expects him to insist that Connor comes down anyway since they can’t take “mental days” when and if they become real pilots. Instead, Luther completely understands and writes a personal note to Connor, explaining that he should take whatever time necessary to get back to normal and they’ll find time for him to take the initial evaluations.

   With a quick farewell and a thank you, Ritch heads back to his room with the paper in hand. On his way back, he runs into Gavin again, but easily dodges the asshole’s attempt at tripping him. He ignores Gavin’s taunts and swears behind him just as easily as he walks on. Ritch is learning how to handle that mess of a human relatively quickly, he thinks. Maybe one day he’ll figure out how to trip Gavin with little to no repercussions.

   He opens the door to his shared bunker easily and finds Connor asleep on his bunk, just as expected. Instead of trying to wake him up, like Ritch would normally do, he simply lays Luther’s note near his pillow so he’ll see it whenever he wakes up. He also takes his own blanket and lays it on top of the one his brother has himself wrapped up in, knowing he likes to feel like a tightly wrapped burrito when going through a dip. Connor doesn’t even shift in his sleep. Ritch then gets down and starts playing relaxing ambiance sounds on the small speakers he brought with him, hoping that Connor will return to normal faster if he does.

   This is the one time he’ll cottle his brother like this, and it’s really only because this reaction is more than reasonable for the memory that was brought up this time. That, and he did play a part in bringing Connor down to this. Otherwise, Ritch would leave him to do his own thing. Not because he doesn’t care, quite the contrary, actually. It’s because he knows that there are harder, tougher times coming in the relatively near future, and he  _needs_  Connor to be ready for it, to be able to pick himself up in case Ritch is gone on a separate mission– or gone for a worse reason– and can’t be there to help. He very highly doubts Connor will ask for help from anyone, and he also doubts that Connor’s future partner will know how to properly help him through these episodes.

   So Ritch just waits patiently each time and hopes that his twin is learning how to bring himself out of these dips easier and faster each time he’s tortured with them.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

   The first dinner Hank spends without that Connor character coming to sit at his table, he thinks nothing of it. The young adult probably found some friends finally and is sitting with them. Hank makes the note to come to lunch early the next day to find out which group to avoid, since there’s no doubt Connor has already started spreading new rumors or nasty truths within that group. Even if he hasn’t, he wants to spare the sickeningly polite guy the mandatory greeting and small talk with Hank if they ever pass or run into each other, and the poor kid doesn’t need any teasing from his new friends.

   Hank ends up waking up much earlier than he wanted to the next morning thanks to a particularly nasty nightmare. Cranky and exhausted, yet unable to go back to sleep with the horrors waiting behind his eyelids, Hank forces himself up and downs a beer or more to ease the pain and to maybe hopefully get back to sleep. It doesn’t work. He ends up being the fifth person to breakfast, which thoroughly shocks the military equivalent of high school lunch ladies. Deciding that since he’s up this early anyway, he may as well wait to see which group has Connor in it, thus which group to avoid more carefully for a while.

   Hank waits and waits and watches the entrance closely but subtly, yet he never spots the kid. He easily finds his brother, who is still hanging around his group of friends that Connor mentioned, but there’s no Connor. He’s the last one to leave that morning, but he doesn’t mind too much about it yet. Some people just can’t handle breakfast in the morning. Hank’s ex-wife couldn’t ever eat within four hours of waking up without feeling nauseous as all hell, so he decides to come to lunch early. Besides, coming to the food court early means getting food earlier, and coming out to breakfast this early was almost worth seeing the complete shock on most people’s faces.

   Now, Hank is in no way attached to Connor whatsoever, but anyone would start becoming concerned when the person who refused to leave them alone at mealtimes suddenly disappears. That’s exactly how Hank explains his strange sense of confusion at the young man’s vanishing act, anyway. That lunch is spent pointedly  _not_  thinking about houdini number two and focusing on enjoying the peace and quiet again. He definitely  _doesn’t_  keep an eye on the door at almost all times to try and find the young adult, either. That would be borderline creepy and way out of character, even for a guy as nosey and curious as Hank once was (and still kind of is).

   He comes to dinner that evening at a normal time, right in the middle when people are too invested with their own meals and friends to pay Hank any mind, but the line has already been pretty much cleared. He gets his food, sits down, then starts eating. He barely gets three bites in when someone sits in front of him.

   The fuckin’ light version of Connor from the hallway yesterday, whatever the fuck his name is.

   He wouldn’t have been able to hold back the growl of annoyance even if he wanted to. “The fuck do you want?”

   “Have you asked Connor any questions? Or brought up any topics to speak about with him?”

    _What the hell?_  “Do I look like the type of guy who likes to buddy up to people? He just kinda sits there–” Hank gestures to Connor’s spot “–and fidgets the whole damn time.”

   “No, you don’t. I apologize for taking up your time then, Mr. Anderson. Have a good day.”

    _Again, the hell?_  “What? That’s it? I don’t even get to know why it was so important to ask me that?”

   The young man hesitates, “Connor’s just been in a mood dip recently, as one could call it. I know that he openly doesn’t dislike being around you, so I was simply clarifying that you didn’t accidentally put him in this dip. I’ll let you get back to your dinner, now. Good evening.”

    _A mood dip? What the fuck does that mean?_

   Hank thinks he finds that out at lunch the next day.

   “Holy shit, you look like a walkin’ corpse.” Hank comments upon seeing Connor limp towards his seat on the other side of the table. “The fuck happened to you?”

   His skin is pale, dark bags under his eyes, but his eyes themselves, while shiny, aren’t red, so he probably hasn’t been crying recently. His normally styled hair is a complete disaster. He didn’t even take the time to put on his normal T-shirt with cargo pants and boots, instead opting for a tank top, sweatpants, and slip on shoes. Every single one of Connor’s movements are slow and sluggish, and every single one shows off some kind of bandage, scab, or bruise on his arms, shoulders, and neck area.

   All in all, he looks like someone who might’ve been in too much pain to properly sleep. Although, that wouldn’t make sense with what Ritch told him yesterday and the kind of question he asked. Curiouser and curiouser, indeed.

   “Was just reminded of something unpleasant, is all. I shouldn’t even be affected by it, yet here I am.” Connor drops in his chair like a sack of potatoes. “Very affected and very drained.”

   Then it finally properly clicks, what Connor version two meant by being in a mood, and why he came to Hank of all people to ask if he had anything to do with it. The poor kid probably hasn’t been up due to pain, but rather nightmares instead. Hank can’t stop himself from empathising with him, having just had that particularly nasty one just the night before.

   “Well, you should get some fuckin’ sleep. Leavin’ the lights on help.”

   Connor’s brows furrow in confusion before he slowly looks up at Hank, tilting his head in the process.

   “I wasn’t kidding when I said you look like a walking corpse.” Hank states with pointedly raised eyebrows, not especially emotionally invested in what’s happening anymore. He turns to his food, instead.

   “I have been sleeping.”

   “Bullshit, but suit yourself.”

   “I think all I did was sleep and  _try_  to sleep for the past 16 hours.”

   Hank, a hypocrite who adores calling people out on their bullshit and proving them wrong, turns to face Connor, resting his elbow on the table and leaning on it.

   “16 hours, huh? So what’dya do for the other 24 then? Hm?”

   He watches Connor freeze for half a second before relaxing again with one of the most forced laughs Hank has ever heard. The panic doesn’t truly leave his eyes either.

  “Ha ha, very funny. Ritch used to try to do that to me too.”

   Hank glowers, “Why is this funny? You literally disappeared for an entire day and a half then suddenly showed up again.” Hank brings his full attention back to his food with an annoyed shake of his head. “I thought you finally found some actual friends or somethin’. Damn.”

   “...I missed a day…”

   Hank barely catches that comment, since it was said under Connor’s breath, but it’s got enough emotion in it to make him want to look back over at the other mess of a human being at this table. He ends up doing it.

   And a mess he is. Connor’s frozen with wide eyes that see through the table, his food seemingly forgotten in front of him. It’s extremely unsettling to see him completely still for a change. Just a few days ago Hank would have prayed to the god he doesn’t believe in to make it stop, but stillness in this fashion screams “wrong” so much that it’s almost worse than the light, rhythmic tapping of his fingers against the table. Not that he’s gotten used to them, just that that would be more comfortable than the current tense inactivity.

   “I missed an entire day of evaluations.” Connor says a bit louder.

   That seems to spark something in injured man because he abruptly goes straight as a board and starts frantically looking for something. It’s not until he catches what Connor’s muttering under his breath “ _..._ what time is it? What’s the date? Where’s the time? A clock? I need a clock–”

   “It’s just past noon on the 17th.” Hank huffs an answer, immediately changing his mind on the stillness versus movement. Thankfully, Connor stops.

   “Oh shit.” he whispers, Hank barely hearing it, “Oh shit oh shit oh shit I’m currently skipping evaluations,  _shit_.” Connor quickly stands, somehow looking both more alert and more exhausted than ever before. “I am so fucked, oh no.” He grabs his untouched tray and gets up to walk away.

   Hank may not like very many people, but he knows no good can come from not eating for at least 48 hours. He doesn’t think he would even let Gavin Reed, the selfish cunt, leave without trying to get  _something_  in his gut if the asshole was in a position and mindset similar to Connor’s.

   “Hey hey hey, woah.” Hank sits up straight and puts his hands on the table, making it look like he’s about to get up from his seat even though he has no plans to, “You have to sit down and eat. You’re going to starve yourse–”

   “I’ll be fine.” the trainee interrupts, not stopping. “I’ve gone longer without food. I just need a water bottle and I’ll be fine.”

   “You will do no such thing.” Connor 2.0 appears, blocking the other’s way with a stern frown. “Mr. Anderson is right, you’re going to sit down and you’re going to eat.”

   “Ritch,”  _Ah! That’s what his name was_ , “I’m not in the mood to play your games. I have things that need to be done so move out of my way.” Connor tries to sidestep Ritch, but he blocks him again.

   “I’ve already informed Luther that you were going to be out of commission until further notice. Did you not get his note?”

   “Yes I did, but it’s not him I’m worried about. There are higher ups that are watching us and I can’t afford to miss any more–”

   “ _Connor_ ” Ritch growls, it even takes Hank off guard for half a moment. “You will  _sit_  and you will  _eat_ , or so help me Markus and I will pin you down while Simon spoon feeds you. I don’t care if you’ve lasted longer without food before. You didn’t have a choice then. You will  _not_  start doing this voluntarily. I refuse it.”

   Upon seeing Connor’s returning glare, Hank quickly changes his opinion of him from being the polite fool to someone who could easily hold his own when needed. Well, he still is too much of a people pleaser, but at least he’s doesn’t seem to take any shits when he really doesn’t want to.

   “Ritch,  _move_ –”

   “Your brother’s right, Connor.” Hank stares Connor down. The older man has thankfully been desensitized to death glares over the past few years or else he would have been in trouble just now. “And if Luther understands, then so does anyone else watching. He’s probably the most strict with these rules since he’s supposedly ‘passionate’ about his job or something. Now sit the fuck down ‘cause you’re making me tense with all this shit and I already haven’t been sleeping well lately.”

   Connor glances between the two of them before huffing and sitting back in his usual seat. Ritch sends a warning glare at Connor– which the latter retaliates with a huff and eye roll– then nods at Hank and retreats back to his table. Before he can even sit down, though, Hanks’s own table starts being slightly jostled. One glance towards Connor proves it’s him and his damn leg bouncing again. Although, as much as Hank wants to snap at him to stop, even he can recognise that Connor needs people to be less harsh with him right now.

   “Connor, you’re leg’s bouncing.”

   No response.

   “Connor.” Hank tries again louder.

   Connor starts muttering to himself then puts his head in his hands, his fingers tugging at his own hair. Hank can’t help but empathize with the poor guy. Hank’s been in a similar state of mind before, but not when he was this young. Actually, now that Hank’s thinking about it, he may still have the stuff that helped him all that time ago, just out of reluctance to clean his bunker.

   “Connor!”

   The young man jumps and turns his head to Hank so fast the older man wonders if got got any sort of whiplash. Connor’s eyes suddenly widen and he goes mostly still and refocuses his attention on his food tray almost robotically.

   “Right, right. Food. No fidgeting. Have to eat. Impolite not to.” Connor takes a breath, shakes his head as if physically clearing the thoughts in his head, then says under his breath, “Real jaeger pilots aren’t like this. I was trained to be better. Stupid stupid  _stupid_ …”

   This is an entire level or two worse than Hank originally thought, but he’s sure the things he has can still help. What surprises Hank the most is that he’s actually almost wanting to help this guy out just for the sake of it. Although, he rationalises, it’s probably because Hank had been in a mindset similar to his at one point in time, and can remember exactly how it felt to be that overwhelmed and in over his head. What he can’t rationalise, is the proud feeling at being able to maybe make this guy’s day easier.

   All he knows is this guy obviously doesn’t have any friends to lean on yet, and Hank’s gonna do something to maybe make this easier on him.

   ...Hank was kind of hoping that if he restated it he could bullshit a reason for doing it in the first place. Apparently not. Going with the old “following his gut” thing, now, huh? Whatever. He’s deciding to not care anymore right now.

   He heaves a sigh, interrupting Connor’s uninterpretable muttering. “Alright, take whatever food may be appetizing to you later and let’s go.” He stands up and starts taking his mostly empty tray to where it belongs.

   “Go? Go where? If I’m gonna leave I’m going to go to train–”

   “Well why don’t you just shut the fuck up and just follow me. Unless you don’t want anything that could possibly help with this–” he gestures to Connor, “–fuckin’ disaster.”

   Connor gets up quickly at that, “Things like that exist? Really?” He starts stuffing the wrapped items into his pockets

   “You live under a rock or something?” Hank is already losing his patience. This is already a mistake.

   “Well, my– uh… My trainer, I guess you could call her, didn’t really like that I was limited, and she didn’t like us getting help for something we could fix on our own even more. And we didn’t really have a social life or anything growing up, either.” Connor takes a deep breath, “So yeah, I guess I have lived under a rock until recently.”

   Whoever this bitch is, sounds like a down right asshole. Hell, even Gavin wouldn’t go that far with anyone and he’s  _him_. When Hank says as much to Connor as they travel through the reinforced halls, Connor splutters.

   “She– I– Well–” Connor finally gives up with a sigh. “I suppose it doesn’t really matter now, does it?”

   Hank doesn’t give a response.

   The rest of the trip is spent in silence, and by the time they make it to Hank’s bunker, the small portion of food Connor brought with him is gone. That’s a good sign at least. Really good. Hank puts in the code to his door and cracks it open, then turns to the anxious man (though he’s hiding it really well now, Hank can still see the signs of it) behind him.

   “If I give these to you, you have to promise to try to find other people to hang out with. Got it? I ain’t friend material.”

   “I beg to differ, but if it will put you more at ease then I will try harder to find other people who will put up with me.” As if on cue, his foot starts tapping and he starts picking at his fingers less-than-subtly.

   “Try harder? You’ve already been trying?”

   Connor shuffles a bit in place, “Yes, but I’m not good at making friends like Ritch is. I’ve always either made a fool of myself or blended into the background. Which is okay because I’m used to doing things on my own by now. And now I’m talking too much again, I apologize.”

   “Huh. Well, you better come inside so that asshat Reed doesn’t see you hangin’ around out here and decide to try an’ pick a fight.” Hank says as he opens the door to his room, waving Connor in. It’s not like he has anything to hide, it’s just his dirty clothes and the empty bottles of various alcohol bottles all over the floor.

   He immediately shuts the door once Connor fully enters. Ignoring the other man, Hank gets straight to trying to find his old weighted blanket and stress ball. He’s been wanting to get rid of them anyway, and if they can help a future comrade, then good. Hank pauses in his search when he hears a bit of shuffling and turns to Connor…who is neatly moving all of the empty bottles on his floor into a pile in the corner of the room.

   “What’re you doing?” There’s no anger in his tone, only pure confusion.

   Connor freezes, then immediately drops the two bottles he had in his hands as if he didn’t realise what he was doing.

   “I’m sorry, Mr. Anderson,” he straightens up, “I just didn’t want the bottles to break and have you cut your feet, but this is your room and I shouldn’t have touched it. It’s my bad, sorry.” his fidgeting is getting worse again.

   “Cleaning an alcoholic’s empty bottles off of his floor is hardly something to apologise for. Just wonderin’ why you felt the need to.” Hank returns to his search, just looking for the stress ball now, with the blanket folded on the floor by his feet. “You aren’t my maid or anythin’.”

   “Oh. It’s just habit I suppose.”

   Hank kneels down to better search the bottom drawer, “Habit? You one of those losers with the squeaky clean rooms growin’ up?”

   A moment passes in silence, then Connor speaks with a cautious tone in his voice. “Is it not normal to have a spotless room?”

   “Uh, not really.” Hank finally pulls out the dull-from-age stress ball and puts it on top of the navy blue blanket that may or may not have a few visible stains on it. Probably from where his old dog drooled or chewed something on it years ago and Hank gave up trying to wash the slobber out. God, he fuckin’ misses Sumo, the big lug.

  “Oh. Um…”

   Connor looks like he wants to ask something but is hesitating, and Hank is officially running out of patience. He wants this man out of his room as soon as possible. Yes, Hank’s being somewhat bipolar recently, but can you blame him? This has been a rollercoaster of week so far, and he’s willing to bet that next week won’t be much different. He tried to go with the flow, but now he just wants his regularly scheduled life back please and thank you.

   “What?” Hank finally snaps.

   “Uh– What kind of things do people use to make their spaces cluttered? Like, pleasantly cluttered.” Connor rushes out.

    _What in the?_  “I’m sorry?”

   Connor looks down at his hands, which he’s tightly wringing together, “Like, do normal people actually hang papers on the wall with tacks that make holes everywhere like Simon mentioned once? It seems inconvenient to use when there are other, non-impaling methods of hanging things up.”

   Did he really not have any normal friends growing up? What the hell.

   “Well, uh, it was just me and Ritch for as long as I can remember, so…” Shit, he must’ve said that out loud. “Oh! But there was this one kid named Ross we were acquainted with when we were 8 years old and he was nice. It’s probably why he got adopted almost immediately. I hope he’s happy now.” Connor finishes genuinely with a small smile on his face. It disappears quickly though, “And I’m talking a lot again. I’m so sorry.”

   “Why the fuck do you do that?”

   “I don’t know. I just answer a question and then it reminds me of something else and I guess I haven’t learned how–”

   “No no, not the talking itself. Why are you fucking constantly apologizing for talking a bit more after answering a question? It’s kinda more annoying than the talking itself.”

   He freezes. “Oh. Oh…” Connor looks around, obviously caught off guard. “Uh, only friends talk to each other as freely as I tend to want to talk to people. Or that’s how I’ve grown up being taught, anyway. And you’ve implied plenty of times that you’re not interested in becoming friends, even though I personally think you would make an adequate friend, but I digress again.”

   How does Hank respond to this?

   First of all, when this guy said that he didn’t have a social life earlier, he literally meant that he didn’t to the extent that he didn’t even realise messy rooms were a thing.  _Messy rooms_ , of all things! That’s like, the most iconic part of being a teenager! And if he didn’t know even that, then that means he didn’t have any social medias or a TV growing up either, because that fact is literally all over every type of media there is.

   That also brings up the point that whoever raised him did a real shit job at it, because who the hell believes people can only talk amicably to friends? How the fuck does someone make friends if they’re not allowed to talk freely with other people until the friendship title has been officially earned? Hank’s sure he could go on bashing this so-called “parental figure” Connor had growing up, but he doesn’t particularly want to spend any more time thinking about it right now. If he did, that would mean he actively cares about the kid, when in reality he’s just concerned about how little he knows and how little help he’s been getting for his very real problems, just as any half-decent human being would.

   Secondly (Or is this thirdly? Hank’s lost count already), this poor, misguided kid thinks  _Hank_  of all people would make an acceptable friend. What. The. Hell. He understood Connor doesn’t really get social clues even before all this ‘being sheltered’ shit spilled today, but Hank thought he was better than  _this_. What part of Hank’s old, unkept, very-out-of-shape self mixed with scowls, growls, groans, and complaints told Connor “Hey, this old man wouldn’t be horrible to befriend!”. Even with the fact he used to look up to Hank during his old jaeger years, the young man should have realised after the two days of sitting with him that it wasn’t worth it.

   “Why are you so convinced I’d make a good friend?” is all Hank says out loud.

   Connor looks surprised by that, then quickly turns his head away to contemplate his answer. He turns back around a moment or two later with a kind determination Hank hadn’t seen since Jeffery last told him that he’d try his best to help Hank. Hell, even his best friend and copilot of many years couldn’t put up with his shit anymore. What makes this kid think he could?

   “I’m gonna give you the long, blunt truth because you seem like the one person here that I don’t have to sugarcoat or say anything gently.” He takes a breath, then continues determinedly. “I think you’re lonely without realizing it. I know I was before I got here and was forced to be around a lot of people. And it might be a lot of self projecting onto the first person I’ve regularly hung around, but I think it’s true for you, even if you don’t know or believe it.

   “You already know that I used to follow your work as a jaeger pilot– you, Marshal Fowler, and the Gerund brothers were my inspiration and motivation, really– and I also know that you don’t really have any friends left because you’ve changed so much since then and they always expected you to go back to your old self, even though that’s impossible.” He pauses briefly. “People keep accusing me of wanting to ‘fix’ or ‘change’ you, but I honestly don’t. Well, it’d be better for you altogether if you drank less, but I can’t control that and I won’t try to.

   “I mean, honestly, I’m just looking for someone to sit down with and not have to worry about watching every little thing I say during conversations so people don’t get any more nosey than they already are. Plus, it just gets exhausting being around the other people around here because I’m so used to being able to sink into the background and such, and the people around here force me out of it. And from what I’ve gathered, you don’t like the people here for a very similar reason I’m beginning to grow tired of them.” Connor takes a breath. When Hank doesn’t say anything because he’s too busy processing what’s been said, Connor presses on, less confident this time.

   “I know a friendship can’t thrive upon disliking the presence other people by itself, but I feel like it could maybe start one. I don’t know what you were like before, and quite frankly I don’t really care anymore. People change all the time, and that version of you is in the past, for better or worse. You just have to make do with what you are now.” The younger man looks down to his feet. ”I don’t know about you, but I hate it when people start treating me differently or push me too hard when they find out about my… previous lifestyle, you could say, and unique experiences, growing up.” He shrugs and looks up to Hank.

   “You don’t. You’re the only one who hasn’t and doesn’t expect anything special out of me in return. And I make it a habit to not treat people differently either. Unless, of course, it’s cold-blooded murder or something, then yea, I probably would treat you a bit differently.” Connor finishes with a small, awkward smile.

   Well if that wasn’t a speech and a half… Hank feels like he’s been saying this constantly these past two days, but once again, what the actual fucking hell. Connor has spent just about two days total with Hank, and yet he clearly understands him more than even some of the coworkers he’s had for years. He doesn’t know whether to be disappointed in his group of acquaintances, impressed that Connor doesn’t have his head up his ass like everyone else, or scared that Connor’s already correctly guessed this much about him in such almost no time.

   Hank decides he feels a mixture of all three, plus a weird sense of concern for the man in front of him. He spoke like he personally experienced horrors, and his two day disappearance just because he was– how’d he word it? “Reminded of something unpleasant”? And if Hank has figured anything out about Connor, it’s that he greatly downplays any and everything pertaining to himself. For fuck’s sake, this guy no concerns over being beaten almost to a pulp by his own brother.

   What exactly happened to him during his– how old was he? 26? That almost sounds right– 26 years of existence that he would so clearly understand the mentality of someone who’s been through hell and back?

   Hank holds out his arms to give Connor the weighted blanket and stress ball and opens his mouth to briefly explain what they are. He doesn’t know why the next question comes out of his mouth instead.

   “How old are you again?”

   To be fair, Connor looks about as surprised as Hank feels right now. “Nearly 23 years old.”

   Twenty-fuckin’-three. This guy standing in front of him, who looks like the biggest brown-nosing pushover, but can pack a very mean and very solid punch and can conjure up a glare so harsh and deadly it could make some grown-ass-men cower. Connor, who made it into this training program with very little effort and could– and probably will– skyrocket to the top of his class if what Jeffery briefly said about him and his twin the other day is true, is only fucking  _23 years old_. He’s barely even an adult! Plus, if he and his brother are already this far ahead of the game, then that means they’ve preparing for this for a really fucking long time. On top of that, didn’t Connor mention an orphanage and a stepmother? If that’s the case then it means his original family is long gone and he was adopted out after he hit an age where he could clearly remember some random kid’s name and face.

   God damn, Connor really  _didn’t_  have a childhood, did he? Fuckin’ hell, that’s just downright depressing. Even though Hank had it rough growing up, he could still say that he had time to fuck around as a kid.

   Well, Connor was right about one of many things, Hank isn’t going to be giving him any special treatment beyond this mother fucking stress ball and heavy-ass blanket, that’s for sure. He’s got a reputation of being an asshole to keep up after all. He doesn’t want people to think that just anyone can come up and talk to him or ask him for and about stuff now, would he? Hank has made that mistake only once in the past few years.

   “Alright, fucker, you got me. Whoopty doo.” Hank starts sarcastically. “Just don’t spread whatever you think of me around too much, I got enough problems to deal with as it is.”

   “Yes, of course Mr. Anderson. I don’t very much like it when rumors spread, myself, so I won’t be partaking in that particular activity for as long as I can help it.” Hank can almost imagine him as a puppy with how easily and happily Connor’s agreeing with him. Except he isn’t, ‘cause that’s hella fuckin’ creepy and gross. He suppresses a shiver at the thought of some other creepy fuckin’ old man fantasizing about some young stranger like that.

   “And I wasn’t kidding when I said you needed to find other friends.”

   “And I wasn’t kidding when I said I’d try harder to make them.” A pause. “And I won’t force you into an acquaintanceship either. If you really dislike my presence, then I can always find another private place to sit during meals.”

   Hank opens his mouth to confirm that he does, indeed, dislike Connor’s presence, finally given a way to get rid of the main disturbance in his life recently. Yet he finds he can’t. Looking past the fidgeting and essay answers to most questions asked, Hank surprisingly hasn’t found much else to truly hate about him. A lot of said answers seem rehearsed and/or robotic or sarcastic, but Hank can tell he usually says what he means. That, and while most people who are open books normally come off as in-your-face and annoying, Connor’s an open book in a way that he doesn’t broadcast anything, but doesn’t try to hide much when asked by someone he’s not uncomfortable with, either. Hank can tell this because he used to know someone exactly like this and can already see the patterns.

   Those types of people generally make the best pilots, in his experience.

   In the end, Hank just silently holds out the blanket in his arms again instead of saying anything. Connor glances back and forth between the other’s face and the blanket in his arms, and hesitantly reaches out as if Hank’s going to snatch it away from him at the last moment. Hank begins explaining what they are, seeing that Connor probably has no fucking clue what these actually are and what they’re meant for.

   “This is a weighted blanket. The box and company will tell you it’s supposed to make you feel safe or like someone’s hugging you or some shit like that, but honestly it just feels like someone laid a flexible mattress over you or something, which can kinda feel nice when you’re having a bad day for some weird reason. I dunno how to fucking explain this shit so just take it.” So he does. Hank points to the squishy ball on top of the blanket. “That thing is a stress ball. You squish it, pull it, throw it, do whatever the fuck you want with it. It’s designed to not break unless you were purposefully trying to do so. It never really did shit for me, but you fidget all the god-damned time so it’ll probably do somethin’ for you. You’re welcome.” Hank huffs the last part, having to put minimal effort into seeming grumpy, as opposed to no effort, for the first time in ages.

   Connor looks at the old, tattered blanket and ancient, somewhat stretched out stress ball (from the amount of times Hank hurled it at the walls in rage) like it was the best thing in the whole damned world. He shifts the blanket onto one arm as if it weighed the same as an average throw blanket and not 20 pounds (9 kg), give or take, and uses his now free hand to give the stress ball a test squish. All in all, Connor really shouldn’t have that amazed and grateful look on his face for two old and very used items.

   “Thank you very much, Mr. Anderson. I greatly appreciate this. Thank you.” He looks up from his stuff to Hank, “I’ll take care of them and bring them back in the same condition you gave them to me in.”

   “Give them back?– Connor.” he deadpans, “I’m fucking giving these to you. Permanently. I’ve been needing to get rid of them anyway, and you sure as hell could use them if what happened before is even somewhat a normal thing that happens.”

   That was probably the wrong thing to say, Hank realises a tad too late.

   Connor’s changes from gracious and happy to anxious yet calculating in the blink of an eye.

   “I still need to catch up on evaluations.” He starts taking steps back, somehow expertly avoiding anything he could trip on despite not actually being able to see them. “Thank you very much for these Mr. Anderson, but I’ve really got to go. I have a lot I need to do. A lot. So thank you, I’ll get out of your hair now.” Connor opens the door. “Goodbye.” And he’s gone.

   ...why does his room seem so quiet and cluttered now?

•◊•◊•◊•◊•

   When Connor comes into the room during the middle of their current written evaluation, Ritch releases a large, mental sigh of relief. When he watched Connor blindly follow Mr. Anderson out of the food court area before actually eating anything earlier, it took both Josh and North gently holding him back and talking him down so he wouldn’t hunt down the pair and make do on his threat. He’s glad they succeeded in calming him down now, though, because whatever Mr. Anderson said or did very obviously calmed Connor down, and judging by the empty wrapper sticking out of his pocket, he even got his stubborn brother to eat something.

   Maybe Hank isn’t an incompetent asshole after all. Yes, he’s still obviously constantly grumpy and drinks way too much alcohol, but maybe just that one half of the rumors and stories aren’t quite true. Either that or maybe Connor simply latched onto him much faster that Ritch originally thought, and is now somehow charming the old man into not despising him. It’s likely a mixture of both, now that he’s thinking about it.

   No one can quite interpret what’s being said between Luther, Chloe, and Connor, but seeing his brother’s pleading expression along with the instructors’ stern ones with undertones of concern, they’re most definitely making him wait until tomorrow to continue evaluations. He still looks like a complete wreck, after all, with his sleeping clothes on and disastrous hair. Ritch forces himself back to the boring and simple exam (even though he finished a few minutes ago, purposefully marking a few of the questions wrong as he planned, but is currently waiting for at least two other people to finish before he turns his in). Connor then quietly leaves with a pleasant farewell to the two instructors, and the room is plunged back into silence once more.

   24 minutes later, Ritch can’t take sitting in the silence with nothing to do any longer while his brother is off doing who knows what right now. Plus, he’s pretty sure Luther and Chloe have booth figured out by now that he hasn’t actually been writing anything down anymore. He gets up and is the first one to turn the evaluation in. Ritch most certainly does not think about how Amanda would be disappointed in him for not being able to sit still for any longer because Amanda no longer has any control over his life. What is she going to do? Somehow hack into the cameras, see him giving in, then fly all the way over here just to punish him for being weak?

   Ritch also does not think about how that doesn’t sound completely outlandish and bizzare for Amanda’s standards.

   Instead, Ritch focuses on how, upon entering his bunker, he hears the shower running in their little bathroom. That means Connor’s officially out of his funk, which is significant because the event he was directly reminded of normally causes the worst dips by far. The last time someone asked about it, he refused to come out of his room for an entire week, and Ritch had to smuggle snack foods and water bottles into their shared room (where it wasn’t allowed due to carpeting) just to keep him from starving and dehydrating.

   Maybe he was right, maybe being away from that environment really is helping Connor after all. He truly is a talented and smart guy, Amanda just didn’t particularly like how he put his heart on his sleeve, since that could potentially get him or others hurt. Ritch wants to believe that she didn’t mean to break Connor like this, but another part whispers that she may have purposefully broken both of them long ago in order to make them soldiers; that they had just found different ways of coping and played different roles in her games called ”training”.

   Connor will show her. He doesn’t believe it now, but he’s quite strong in his own way. What kind of person can say they’ve been through what Connor has and still remained so reluctant to become bitter and reclusive. Hank can’t, that’s for sure. Even Ritch can’t quite say he can, either. It’s only because of Connor’s constant desire for genuine friendship and connection that Ritch even tried talking to Markus and the group in the first place. If his brother had no part in what Ritch thinks and how he behaves, he would spend most, if not all of his free time in their room.

   Connor doesn’t realise, let alone believe it now, but it takes bravery to put oneself out there, especially when one’s mind constantly screams every imperfection about themselves at all times like Connor’s seems to do.

   Ritch calmly places the sleeping oil his brother uses to remain unconscious during his mood dips. He doesn’t think that Connor knows that he knows he uses it, but there’s no way Ritch wouldn’t have after all these years of sharing a room and storage space. Plus, the amount of times he’s had to hide these little bottles from Amanda to save Connor’s forgetful ass when he leaves it out is far too many. Now Ritch only puts it away out of habit, and some part of him knows that it will likely put Connor more at ease knowing the bottle was hidden away for one reason or another, and not out where anyone could see it.

   Ritch also notes the…  _well loved_  ball and the stained blanket placed on the desk. He wonders if Mr. Anderson had anything to do with those, since Luther would have given any gifts at the same time as the note he wrote for Connor the other day, and these are clearly a new addition to the room. If the older man actually did have anything to do with those– which Ritch has a feeling he is– then he’ll have to thank him at some point in the near future. Maybe, just maybe, Connor is right. Maybe Hank Anderson really isn’t as horrible and unpredictable as people say, and maybe Connor really isn’t looking to bring him back to how he was during his glory days.

   Maybe, just maybe, he won’t get between the two for now. Just for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo guys! Another chapter out, whoot whoot!! So, I don’t have much to say except this chapter was kind of boring, but it’s a stepping stone for what’s to come in the future so please bear with me 😅 Next chapter will feature Gavin and Ritch!! (even though it may still be kinda dull compared to the last chapter 😅) I feel like I’ve been focusing on Connor a lot since the beginning of this fic, but that’s only because that’s how it has to work out in my evil master plans Mwahaha!
> 
> Anyway, The next thing I’ll be posting is actually the first chapter of a Hankcon fic I had planned, Cat Out of the Bag, and that will be coming very soon! I already have more than half of it written! Thank you for reading and leaving comments! I may not respond to everyone, but I read everything! Y’all are the best 💖


	5. Caught

   It’s been about a week and a half since Connor’s mood dip, and Ritch is happy that everything’s been calm since then. Connor hasn’t had any signs of another episode, and he gets along with Markus and Simon really well, too. Josh and North, on the other hand, aren’t having quite as much luck. It isn’t entirely their fault, though. Josh is the official “Mom Friend”, a role that has always put Connor on edge in the past for whatever reason (Ritch has learned by now to not question things like this). North, well, she’s just North; blunt, quick to start fights– even if most of them are meant to be playful– and is kind of brash. She’s pretty much the exact opposite of Connor, which has them both walking on eggshells around each other. It’s fine, though, because they all are comfortable enough with one another, considering the rocky start.

   For some reason, Connor is still hanging out with Mr. Anderson during every meal rather than with Ritch and the Jericho Gang (an inside joke, apparently). If someone had asked him how he felt about that last week, he would’ve said that he was itching to get Connor away from the potentially toxic situation, despite coming to the conclusion that Mr. Anderson probably wasn’t as bad as most people thought. Although, after seeing them sit in a calm silence for the past week, Ritch is starting to think that Mr. Anderson may be helping Connor keep his head beyond giving him a blanket and an old ball. Ritch doesn’t know how, but he’ll just leave them to it for now as he has been.

   He doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to understand people like those two, especially how relationships of any kind work between two people who seem to be so different. It’s incredibly frustrating because Ritch  _knows_  he’s missing something essential and he  _knows_  that if he was to ask Simon or Josh for their opinion, they’d be able to see what’s why they get along immediately, but he still  _can’t_. One would think that after being a certain way for as long as he could remember, Ritch would get used to the feeling of being alienated to these types of things, but he’s not. He can’t even think about this particular topic for too long or else a strange irritation starts to boil deep inside of his gut, and– surprise, surprise– he doesn’t know why  _that_  happens either.

   It’s incredibly frustrating and isolating, indeed.

   However, on a more pleasant topic, training has been going well so far too. Both Connor and Ritch have healed from their injuries from that first day of evaluations and are currently placed at the top of the class, even with them holding back and purposefully getting questions wrong as to prolong their graduation and buy time to find new partners. Neither twin is worried, though, because another student– Traci, if Ritch remembers correctly for once– is right on their tails, so they aren’t complete outliers. The three of them together make up the tutors of the class, for when the other students have a minor question and/or the instructors aren’t available. Ritch is enjoying his new role quite a bit more than he thought he would, and has found that he likes helping the others with these types of things. He’s genuinely proud of and happy with himself for the first time in longer than he cares to mention.

   Connor has been doing a good job mentoring as well, even though most of the class can tell he doesn’t love doing it. He likes to help, and will do what he can to do so, but he’s so unsure of himself and always gives Ritch these uncertain looks when explaining something as if he doesn’t know the information like the back of his hand. Honestly, he doesn’t know how Connor can be so unsure of himself after all these years of preparation, but he’ll chalk it up to the same reason why wording a question wrong will force him into his bed for days at a time. It’s just another quirk that Connor avoids talking about and another thing Ritch doesn’t question for that reason.

   Anyhow, overall, things are going well. Everyone gets along, no one’s been kicked out yet (Alex had a few close calls, though), Connor hasn’t been close to another freak out. Training is still simple and more strength building and flexibility than anything else. In Ritch’s honest opinion, it’s almost boring.

   That’s why Ritch has slowly been appreciating the run-ins with the less-than-pleasant jerk, Gavin Reed, more and more lately, as it seems to be the only thing exciting and challenging him right now. He doesn’t know if it’s planned by Gavin or not, but they almost always run into each other around lunch and/or dinner time. Ritch still contentedly walks along after dodging whatever shoulder-check or trip attempt Gavin tries, then walks away and ignored the taunts and occasional swears behind him with a smugness that’s been growing recently. Honestly, that man doesn’t give up, and Ritch doesn’t know why Gavin decided to latch onto  _him_  of all people, but he digresses.

   Yes, all in all, Ritch would say things are going quite well now, considering how everything started. Even not considering that, it hasn’t been horrible. He’s almost suspicious of how calm and routinely everything has become. There hasn’t been a single time in Ritch’s life that he can remember things going this smoothly for so long. Even as a child in the orphanages and foster homes there was constant moving around and always a group of kids that would tease him and Connor for whatever reason they came up with. He’s not used to calm and predictable. Calm and predictable means danger in the end, and he knows Connor shares the sentiment.

   Maybe that’s why they’re not too shocked when Luther calls them out on the 15th day of training, saying that Marshal Fowler wants to personally see them in his spare office that morning. They simply call out “Yes, sir” like the good little soldiers they were trained to be while everyone has some form of curiosity and/or concern in their expressions. They both leave the room silently and make it down several hallways in the same manner before Ritch decides to try his hand at small talk. He’s been watching Markus interact with others and memorizing how to do it, and he’d like to think he’s getting better at acting like a real person.

   “So, Connor.”

   Connor tenses slightly next to him, but tries to hide it in his tone. “Yes?”

   “You and Mr. Anderson seem to be tolerating each other.” He sees Connor getting defensive and tries to placate him. “I’m not going to try to get in between you or cause any trouble. At least, not unless there’s proof of him hurting you in any way, which there isn’t so far. I was just genuinely interested in what it’s like to sit with him at lunch. He seems to hate everyone with a passion except you,  _and_  he was kind of your idol when we were younger.”

   Connor pauses, then hesitantly responds. “He doesn’t hate everyone so much as he is over and done with everyone’s treatment towards him, I think. He hasn’t told me as much– we rarely talk to each other, actually. It’s kind of a silent agreement that he gets a bit of socialization and I get some time to relax. But anyway, we don’t talk, but I could tell from the few times we have and the way he interacts with me versus everyone else.” Connor looks up at him, “He’s just a normal guy who’s gone through some traumatic stuff, just like us.” He straightens out again.

   “Like us?” Ritch turns his head to look at Connor fully, confusion in his eyes.

   He suddenly looks sheepish, “Well, that’s something I think I’ve discovered while hanging around Mr. Anderson. Like, during my mood dip? Right after I completely moved past that, he grumbled something about me being too young to have PTSD? When I denied having it, he gave me a bunch of shi– crap for it.” Connor smiles the most genuine smile Ritch has seen from him in  _years_. “It’s quite funny, looking back on it now, because just a minute later he ended up giving me a brief explanation on why he thinks I have it anyway. At first I thought it was because he wanted me to get lost or something, but now I know he wouldn’t have even made the original comment to another person. He has very little patience for others. It’s for good reason, though. I don’t blame him.” He takes a breath. “Anyway.”

   He suddenly faces Ritch with a newfound confidence and seriousness, slowing his walk and lowering his voice.

   “Did you know that not all cases of PTSD is having manic terror or violet episodes? That it’s not all becoming an antisocial hermit who’s terrified of turning on an electric egg beater because of the sound? The unpleasant flashbacks I have that are supposedly triggered by little to nothing, the random flashbacks and nightmares you have, how we hate mentioning anything that could make us think of certain things of our past… Mr. Anderson said that those are all real symptoms of PTSD.”

   That catches Ritch’s attention. “Really? Are you sure?”

   Connor looks properly offended, “Of course I am! I wouldn’t have brought it up if I hadn’t done some research on my own. It actually wasn’t hard to find at all, even on Markus’ smart phone. We could have known about this years ago if we had smartphones or tablets like other kids, especially since it’s something we would’ve researched for health purposes.”

   Ritch pauses for a second to process this and think.

   “If this is true… Do you think this is another thing Amanda didn’t want us to concern ourselves with? We both know how she was with injuries and your random days in bed. Do you think that she probably thought this was another thing we were strong enough to face on our own?”

   “I… I don’t know. Part of me wants to believe that she meant no harm, but…” Connor looks down to the floor, “Why would she not let us have electronics? She said it was to keep our focus on our goal but–”

   “–If that were the real reason, you’d think she’d let us have at least a computer or something of the like for instructional and research purposes.” Ritch finishes his sentence, “They could have aided us greatly.”

   “Exactly.”

   Ritch sighs, “I want to think that she was a stubborn and particular yet good person–”

   “–But one by one, things keep proving otherwise since we’ve been here–”

   “–And it’s slowly getting harder to trust that everything she did was done with the best intentions for us.”

   “Yeah.”

   After a pause, Connor smiles and shakes his head. Before Ritch can ask what he finds amusing, his twin idly comments.

   “We haven’t done the twin thing in years.” His smile turns bittersweet, and his eyes go unfocused just that tiny bit; a tell that he’s looking back on something in the past.

   “I haven’t even thought of those days in so long. Not since Amanda requested the…”

    _Actually, I don’t want to think about this right now._

   “How…” Connor starts awkwardly, “How have, uh, your appointments been going? If you don’t mind my asking. I know you’ve been going every four to five months…”

   Now Ritch thinks he knows how Connor feels when he’s asked a question that’s on the verge of being too uncomfortable and personal to answer.

   “I’m pretty much done with them now, but they went well. Much better than anyone expected considering my age at the time. Things could have definitely ended up much worse.”

   Connor picks up that Ritch doesn’t want to talk about this anymore and only nods a response. They slip into silence after that, the tapping of their footsteps and bustle of people somewhere in the distance the only things breaking it. They remain this way until they reach the room where Marshal Fowler should be, and Ritch is not pleased to see Gavin Reed enter the room as well. He still doesn’t know much about the irritable man, but what he does know leads him to believe that he’s either currently in trouble or is looking to complain about something.

   Either way, they don’t hesitate and make no show of entering the waiting-room-like area. From what Ritch has heard, Marshal Fowler occasionally uses this office when he wants a bit more privacy with whoever he’s meeting with, since his main one has a large glass wall and no where to put curtains. Ritch doesn’t know how to feel about Marshal Fowler wanting a more private chat with them, but he doesn’t get too much time to try to figure it out because suddenly the door to the actual office section of the place slams open and Gavin Reed storms out of it. He ends up violently sitting himself down in a chair– because only Gavin Reed could make sitting down violent (He disregards the intrusive thought of North)– immediately crossing his arms like a child and impatiently bouncing his leg with a deep scowl on his face.

   “The fuck’re you lookin’ at?” Reed snaps.

   Ritch smoothly diverts his gaze to the door to Marshal Fowler’s office, “Nothing in particular.”

   Marshal Fowler chooses then to make an appearance. “Connor, can you come back here?”

   Connor starts moving to where the marshal stands in the doorway, and Ritch follows by default. Whenever someone needs to talk to Connor or Ritch, they commonly end up talking to both of them because they’re twins and supposed partners. He stops almost immediately, though, when Marshal Fowler raises a hand at him.

   “I only want Connor. You’re after, go ahead and find a seat out here.”

   Ritch nods and says “Yes, sir”, ignoring the growing concern and confusion. He turns sharply and finds a seat on the opposite side of the small room from Gavin Reed because he took a seat in the middle of his row, otherwise Ritch would opt against having to face him. The chair under him squeaks under his weight, then the entire room is plunged into a silence more tense and painful than the one earlier with Connor had been. He’s not surprised, though. He is the only other person in the room with Reed, so it’s to be expected from the atmosphere, really. It’s also no real surprise that it’s Reed that breaks the silence.

   “The fuck’s up with you two?”

   Ritch contains the urge to roll his eyes and instead gives Reed a flat look. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

   Reed huffs and rolls his eyes dramatically, “Why the fuck are you guys in here?” He sneers, “Are you guys finally being kicked out? We all saw those injuries you got last week. Gonna get those boo boos from earlier this week kissed by mama when you get home?”

   Now Ritch openly rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “If you’re going to try to insult someone, could you at least do it in a more mature and creative way? Because you sound like a child and most children can’t be taken seriously. Also, Connor and I are currently placed at the top of our class, so we certainly aren’t getting kicked out for that reason anytime soon.”

   Reed loses his cockiness real fast and replaces it with blatant irritation. Honestly, this guy is a landmine who’s practically begging to be stepped on. Ritch wonders how many people have fallen for this act, because he certainly won’t. This isn’t his first time dealing with someone as testing as Gavin Reed, disappointing as it is.

   “Top of your class, ey? Is that why you beat each other to a pulp, then? Are you two just not compatible and tryin’ to prove a point?” He barks out a sharp laugh, “That’d be the icing on the cake. Fuckin’ identical twins not bein’ drift compatible. I bet–”

   “You seem to misunderstand.” Ritch interrupts, “We  _want_  to be incompatible, so it would certainly be ‘the icing on the cake’ for us to be officially seen as such, since that has been our goal since the beginning of training.”

   Ritch prides himself for the look of bewilderment on Reeds face.

   “And why the fuck would you guys suddenly not want to be partners? You obviously came as a pair. Got into a cat fight or somethin’?”

   Ritch grins sharply, done with Reed’s antagonizing. “That’s for me to know and for you to preferably never find out.” Reed opens his mouth to speak, but Ritch continues. “And I would suggest that you keep away from other people’s businesses. Someone may accidentally mistake your abrasive nosiness for actually caring.”

   Reed grumbles and angrily slouches low in his seat, not unlike a pouting child would. Within his grumbling, Ritch barely makes out the word “fucker”, but the way he pronounces it makes him mentally do a double take. Sure enough, just a few seconds later, he says what sounds like “phker” under his breath again, and Ritch can’t quite contain the careful, blank expression on his face anymore, letting his eyebrows furrow just the slightest.

    _Does he actually say it like that or is he just shitting around? He said it normally before… What even..?_

   “Ritch,” Marshal Fowler suddenly calls, startling the twin, “You’re up. Connor, you’re free to go so this disaster of a human being doesn’t start influencing your behavior.”

   “Really feelin’ the love, Fowler.”

   “Just do me a favor and shut up. You’re damn lucky you’re a good pilot or else you’d’ve been gone ages ago.” The marshal slams the door behind him with Ritch already inside the office. He turns to face the trainee.

   “Now then, sit down. I’ll make this short.”

   That wasn’t usually a good thing to hear, and Ritch never got the opportunity to read Connor to see how he was effected. He’s going in blind. Thankfully, Marshal Fowler makes do on his word of keeping things quick and barely waits for Ritch to sit down before starting business.

   “You and Connor still refuse to work together, and it’s come to my attention that you guys have started trying to experiment on your compatibility with the other trainees, yes?” Ritch nods a “Yes, sir.”, seeing no reason to lie, and the older man continues. “So, what are we gonna do about this, then?”

   Ritch waits in silence for a few moments, thinking it was a rhetorical question, but when he doesn’t continue, the twin searches for an appropriate answer. The marshal doesn’t actually let him answer, in the end, which miffs him. He’s careful to not let it show, though.

   “We can consider your paperwork to be ingenuine, thus terminating any chances of you and Connor ever being pilots.”

   Ritch feels like this is the first of multiple options with the way he said this, but it’s obvious that this is a test of some kind, so he plays along. Besides, this is something they’ve already tried to admit and clear up during the first day of being here.

   “I suppose, in a way, our paperwork was ingenuine, but we didn’t have a choice in the matter at the time.”

   “And what does that mean?” He probably knows what it means from Connor, but once again, this is probably a test to see how eagerly he wants to be a pilot.

   “Our stepmother and instructor, Amanda, was watching us fill them out, and we–”

   “Wait, wait wait wait wait…” He holds a hand up and takes a second to process something, then points at Ritch almost accusingly. “Your trainer was your stepmother? You share her last name?”

   Ritch doesn’t know how he messed up, but he feels like he did. “Yes, sir.”

   “So your trainer was Amanda, as in, Amanda Stern?”

   “Do… you know her, sir?”

   “‘ _Do I know her_ ’, he asks.” He spins in his chair to look at an invisible audience and throws his hands in the air. The perfect show of incredulous shock. “You mean to tell me that you just  _didn’t know_  that your apparent stepmother, Amanda Stern, is known for training some of the best jaeger pilots we’ve had? You two know so much about everything else ‘round here– because it’s obvious that you and Connor purposefully threw some of the evaluation questions– but neither of you knew who Amanda Stern is? You didn’t think to mention this little detail to us?”

   “I… suppose not, sir. Maybe she didn’t tell us she was known for anything because she wanted us to get in through skill and not because of her name? All we knew was that she had experience in training soldiers and that she offered to train us to give us a better chance at being accepted.”

   “Did you not have any internet? A magazine on jaeger pilots and training, even?  _Anything_?”

   “No, sir. She didn’t like us being distracted from our main goal, much to our own irritation.”

   Marshal Fowler opens his mouth as if to ask another question, probably one out of concern if his facial expression is anything to go by, but he instead sighs deeply with a shake of his head. It’s obvious that he’s pretty much done with this situation and that he wants this to be over as soon as possible. Ritch feels very much the same way.

   “That doesn’t explain why you purposefully answered questions wrong on the written evaluations, and how you guys've been holding back ever since that first day of physical evaluations. And you better not lie to me, because lying about your potential on evaluations is a huge fuckin’ no no and you’re already on thin ice here.”

   See, here’s the problem, if Ritch’s story doesn’t match up near-perfectly with Connor’s, then they’re both done for. Therefore, he has to try to figure out if Connor told the truth about buying time to find a new partner, or if he bent the truth and claimed it was to get more time to gain the “trainee experience”. If Marshal Fowler was this tough on his brother as well, then he would’ve cracked and simply told the entire truth then beg for forgiveness afterward. Although, if he somehow knew Connor is easier to crack and break and went easy on him, then he would have bent the truth to keep his superior from getting angry in the first place.

   This is where being able to see Connor’s expression would have helped immensely. Even just a quick glance at his eyes; the twin-telepathy would have taken care of the rest.

   When Ritch answers, it’s soon enough after Marshal Fowler finished speaking that there’s no noticeable hesitation. His decision is made and hopefully right.

   “To put it shortly, we were trying to avoid any possible chance of early graduation in order to buy time for us to find new partners to pilot a jaeger with. Due to past events, Connor and I will certainly have a difficult time going through the neural handshake. It can be done, we’ve been trained most of our lives to be compatible, but it’ll be more than uncomfortable and taxing for both of us.” Ritch takes a page from his brother’s book and looks down with hunched shoulders, knowing it should accentuate the guilt and trepidation he’s feeling. “We’d really rather not have to find out how long we’d last.”

   The marshal sighs again, this time less angrily, “And why did you not state this on your papers when signing up?”

   Ritch lifts his head, confident in this answer. “As I said before, Amanda was quite literally standing behind us during the entire process, and she would have been… less than pleased, if she saw that we were trying to write down anything besides eagerness to work together. She’s–” Ritch’s voice cracks, so he clears his throat quickly, “She can be a force to be reckoned with, one could say.”

   Marshal Fowler stares down the trainee for any signs or dishonesty or ingenuity, but he finds none. The way he sighs once more, this time more in defeat, tells Ritch that his choice to come clean was the correct choice. It also shows that he should probably get back to Connor as soon as possible, because, knowing him and his patterns of self-blame and punishment, he’s probably already digging himself a ditch in their room with the amount of fidgeting and pacing he’s likely doing.

   “Connor said something similar.” He states as if Ritch couldn’t figure that out, “He never mentioned that your trainer was  _Amanda Stern_ , though. That kinda changes things, here.” He sighs again. The poor guy is probably going through a lot right now.

   “I apologize for making things complicated. You probably have enough on your plate as it is without worrying about two questionable trainees.”

   “You’re damn right I do. I’m glad you recognize that.”

   Another hault in conversation. Marshal Fowler breaks it, this time, with false nonchalance.

   “Mind if I ask how long you've trained with Amanda?”

   “We lived with her for nearly eleven years, but we only trained for a little over ten.” Ritch answers automatically. This is a question he’s answered many times before in the past.

   He hears the marshal hiss a distinct “ _Jesus_ ” under his breath before continuing out loud. “Did you have anyone taking care of you besides Amanda? Like a maid or something?”

   “I have Connor and he has me, but we’ve always been mostly self-sufficient. We never particularly needed anyone else.”

   Marshal Fowler scrutinizes him for a moment, before dropping his gaze to the table between them. Richard feels sympathy for the older man. He knows what it feels like to have so much on his plate and not enough time in the day or mental ability to get it all done efficiently. It’s stressful and exhausting.

   “Alright, I’ve got things to do and another human to talk with, apparently, so you can leave now.” He gets up from his chair and steps to the door, “I’ll have someone tell you the verdict once the people who  _normally_  take care of this stuff decide what to do with you two.” He opens the door then shouts with impatience, “Reed! Get your ass in here!”

   Ritch starts walking out, eyeing Reed, who is just getting up from his chair. He doesn’t know what prompts him to do it, but the twin suddenly can’t simply walk past the trash-human without saying something. It’s an odd feeling, one that he’s never had before, but he relates it to a strange mixture of smug, cocky, and maybe a bit playful, yet he has no reason to be any of those. As they pass each other, Ritch lowers his voice enough that marshal Fowler shouldn’t be able to tell he said anything from where he’s sat in the office chair again.

   “Here for another day, Reed, let’s see if you are too.” he taunts, relishing in whatever this smug, cocky,  _thrilling_  feeling is.

   Reed stops in his tracks, but Ritch continues on as if nothing happened.

   “What did you just say to me?”

   “Reed!”

   Reed can’t see Ritch’s shit-eating grin when he hears the loud growl from the pilot. He also doesn’t see it drop completely because the door is shut tight behind him when he finds Connor waiting right outside in the hall. He usually would have retreated back to their room by now, yet here he is. At least there’s one part of his pattern Connor’s still following; pacing and fidgeting with his fingers in an obvious show of anxiety. Ritch doesn’t get the chance to ask if he’s okay because his brother is suddenly darting to him.

   “Ritch! Ritch, I’m sorry! I told him everything and I messed this all up and–”

   “You didn’t mess anything up, and you didn’t tell him everything.” Ritch cuts him off before it gets out of hand, “He was surprised when I told him Amanda was our stepmother and trainer. Apparently she’s downright famous in our line of work.”

   “I– I think I knew that already.” Connor replies dumbly, obviously in the middle of properly processing everything. Ritch continues.

   “It’s okay that you told Marshal Fowler everything, because I did too. We were caught, and lying would have made things worse. He seemed receptive to our reasonings for lying by the end of our talk.”

   “...was he really? Or are you just trying to make me feel better?”

   “Connor. I never say anything I don’t mean, you know this better than anyone, so the fact that you’re asking me if I am bending the truth for anyone’s benefit means you need to take some time to lie down and think through things before this afternoon. That’s what you normally do during times like this, no?”

   Ritch turns and starts walking back to their dorm, knowing full well that Connor will start following behind him. Sure enough, he hears the tip-tapping of footsteps behind him almost immediately.

   “I do… But what if He was putting on an act to make us think we’re safe. What if we get kicked out? We don’t have any other skills–”

   “If things really do go down the drain, I’m sure we could at least find jobs as bodyguards or some kind of fighting or self-defense instructors. Besides, we’re still young. We still have time learn a new trade if worse comes to worst. But I genuinely don’t think it will come to that.”

   “How can you be sure? What if–”

   Ritch stops and turns to his brother abruptly, “Stop letting your head and emotions get the best of you. Calm down and think clearly. Marshal Fowler never yelled at you, did he? Didn’t get short with you after you explained yourself?”

   Connor takes a deep breath, “...not really, no.”

   “And he didn’t with me, either. He simply said that he’d give the information to the people who officially decide what to do with us.” He stops Connor before he can freak out, “Now think, if you were in their shoes, and you got a case about these two twins whose stepmother, who is well-known for being  _at least_  mildly threatening, apparently, was watching them through every step of the process, would you blame the kids?”

   “I don’t know because I’m not informed on–”

   “Connor, come on, just use your head for a second. Would you do it?”

   His brother stammers, “But I’m too soft and–”

   “ _Connor_.” Ritch snaps.

   “No.” Connor barks back, anger bleeding into his tone.

   “And in the end, I don’t think I would either. People can’t blame kids for being afraid of the consequences of going against their parent’s or guardian’s wishes. In most cases it’s the adult’s fault, so I’ve heard.”

   Connor pauses, looking down. “You’re sure about that? Where have you heard this from?”

   “North complains about her parents sometimes.” Ritch starts walking again, and Connor follows. “They’re eerily similar to Amanda in a lot of ways, as far as I have been able to tell, and what I told you is what Simon told North once or twice. She seemed to agree with him.”

   “Oh…”

   Ritch turns and begins his trek to their bunker again. The relatively short trip is spent in silence for the rest of the way. When they arrive, Connor surprises Ritch by not entering the room when he holds the door open for him. Instead, he states that Lunch will be starting sometime soon and he’d like to get there a little early today. Ritch knows better than to question it, even if it doesn’t match his his usual behavioral patterns, so he simply nods and bids Connor a polite farewell before closing the bunker door behind him.

   Not questioning certain things seems to be a repeating theme for the stoic brother lately, but he can tell that if he did start questioning them, he’d spiral into an unpleasant mindset. He isn’t quite sure why, probably something like a long lost self-preservation method that had become simple habit over time, but he really doesn’t want to delve into that right now. Maybe another time when he knows the following day will be a day off, but not now when he has to go back to training in just a few hours. Ritch has a feeling that this “maybe later” will become yet another “not ever”, but he can’t bring himself to particularly care at this moment. He seems to have a lot of those too, now that he’s thinking about it.

   He shakes his head and forcibly moves any and all of those types of thoughts, like taking boxes of junk and stashing them in the shed or garage when one’s too lazy to go to the dump. There’s a fleeting thought that this is probably unhealthy, but it’s gone and forgotten as fast as it tries to arrive.

   What Ritch decides to think about, after some rummaging around in his head, is that feeling he got when he started taunting Gavin Reed today. He’s still not even sure why he did that, since he vowed just last week to never escalate things like the other man wanted so desperately, yet here he is. This is probably the first feeling aside from enjoyment and annoyance that Ritch has genuinely let himself feel in a while, and it felt…  _good_. It felt really good. That’s what’s concerning him.

   Ritch doesn’t “just feel things”– that would have gotten him in a lot of trouble with Amanda and thus turned him into a nervous wreck like Connor. At first, Ritch picked and chose which emotions to put on his face in order to please the people around him, not unlike what Connor tries to do, but at some point, he just became a robot of sorts. He didn’t realize until it was too late, but he doesn’t really  _feel_  anything anymore, as “teenage angst” as that sounds. He knows what he should be feeling and acts accordingly, and he, for the most part, can tell what other people are probably feeling, so he acts accordingly then, too. Huh, that’s actually kind of depressing.

   He even started tamping down on the annoyance too. That is, until Gavin Reed entered the picture. Ritch ignored the man easily whenever he tried to start something, as usual, but something about him keeps grating at his skin, so to speak. He has no clue why, but there’s no way he’s going to ask for Connor’s help. His twin is living his own life now, he doesn’t need Ritch dragging him down as well. Besides, he wouldn’t even know how to begin describing the strange feeling when treating Gavin to a bit of his own medicine. He’s pretty sure Mr. Anderson would be able to help, but there’s no way in hell he’s approaching the old alcoholic. That’s Connor’s type of thing, not his, and it’ll stay that way for the foreseeable future.

   Whatever, it’s not like this is actually bothering him. This feeling and his and Reed’s interactions are the only things keeping Ritch from going insane with boredom and lack of sunlight, after all. As he starts preparing himself for lunch and the second half of the training day, he wonders if his superiors would let him go for a run around the aircraft launch some time, or if that would be considered too dangerous.

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

   Tina has been asking the same question at lunch every day ever since Gavin told her about his plan to break Ritch. “Make any progress with your boy toy, yet?” Her excuse had been because “He’s a boy and you have been trying to toy with him, therefore, boy toy.” Gavin understands where she got boy toy from, thank you very much, he just doesn’t understand why she says it the way she does, like she’s expecting something to happen. It also doesn’t help that she says it loudly enough for surrounding tables to hear. He wouldn’t be surprised if the “Slut Gavin” rumors started their rounds again soon.

   The pilot only started picking on the guy just to try to get a rise out of him. He does the same exact thing with the other trainees just to see how long their patience lasts. Honestly, what did people expect of him? Every single person he’s encountered has cracked, even those dudes Simon and Josh, who Gavin thought were going to be the toughest to crack because they’re so mild and peaceful. But nope! Just one mention of their little friend group and they got defensive as hell. Gavin hasn’t even tried with the other twin– the one that sits next to Anderson for some fuckin’ reason– because he can tell he’ll crack within seconds of Gavin doing his thing. Plus, if he and Anderson are actually buddying up with each other…

   While the rest of the pilots around here have been and are spoiled with their robots and fancy technology and hence have lost that certain edge, Anderson still knows how to take and throw a damn good punch. Gavin figured that out the hard way a couple years back, and he isn’t going to jump at the opportunity to test it again.

   Ritch, though… Ritch is a fucking robot or something. He’s never surprised, always stoic no matter what Gavin says and has a constant resting bitch face, even when around his little group during lunch. Even with all of the attempts at getting him to do something,  _anything_ , Ritch is always fucking blank and irritating. Honestly, Gavin was even about ready to give up trying to get something out of him. If he hadn’t so much as slipped up by now, he probably wasn’t ever going to crack enough for it to be worth it.

   However, as soon as that fucker walked into the room Gavin knew that today was gonna be different. He was right, as always. He slipped that little bit while waiting for Connor, and that was instantly enough proof that Gavin should keep going, that was possible get a reaction. He thought that was going to be it for the day. He was fully ready to call quits for the day and plan how to get him to break some more tomorrow. He didn’t expect that slight fucking quirk in his lips and that twinkle in Ritch’s eye.

   “ _Here for another day, Reed, let’s see if you are too._ ” is what the fucker said. And to top it all off, Gavin caught that fucking smug-ass grin on his face afterwards. He didn’t know little Ritch could dish anything out, but to not only get away with something like insinuate that Gavin was gonna get fired with the fuckin'  _Marshal_  in the same room, but also get Gavin in trouble for “trying to start something”? He had to endure ten extra minutes of lecturing because he “still wasn’t respecting the trainees” and “hasn’t solved his anger issues”.

    _You wanna finally participate in the game you’ve been ignoring for so long? Then I’ll make it impossible for you to ignore it again. I know how much fun you had in that moment. So let’s fuckin’ play._

•◊•◊•◊•◊•◊•

   Now, Gavin doesn’t normally wait for people. He prefers to play the whole “Oh look who I just ran into” schtick, but that ain’t gonna work for little Richard, anymore. He doesn’t even know if it ever worked for the prick in the first place with how calculated every single one of his movements seems. Oh well, it doesn’t matter anymore, he’s already leaned up against this wall in a way that everyone knows by now means to stay clear of him. He’s on the hunt for prey, and he can see it walking down the hall in his direction right now.

   “‘Sup, dick.” Gavin calls, “Oh I’m sorry, did you prefer Richard? Ritch, maybe?”

   The twin doesn’t miss a beat this time, “Hello to you too, wetland grass. Although, I thought I told you earlier to come up with more mature and creative insults if you wanted to stop being seen as a child.”

   “First of all, fuck you–”

   “No thank you, I’m not interested.” Dick interrupts, pausing a few steps away from Gavin, “Oh, and Reed? Ritch is short for Ritchie, not Richard, so I wouldn’t be called dick anyway. You can try again next time, though, maybe with more finesse. I’m known to be a very patient man and am willing to wait the time period it will take to do so.” He has that same eye sparkle as earlier, even if his face is still morphed into something like disregard.

   “You keep calling me childish, but who’s the one who has a baby face? Are you even old enough to shave? Cause you don’t look a day past fourteen.” Reed sneers, miffed that Ritch is now walking away from him as if he doesn’t have a damn care in the world.

   “No, I don’t shave,” he says over his shoulder, “but I don’t see how that’s insultable since I waste no time in the mornings shaving, and my face never itches. Have a good afternoon, wetland grass. Or do you prefer Reed?” and with that he’s out of casual speaking distance, effectively ending this round unless Gavin wants to throw away his pride and follow the dude or yell down the hallway. He does neither.

   He may have won again this time around– Gavin certainly underestimated this guy from still having doubts that he wouldn’t go back to being unemotional– but little Ritchie is a fool if he thinks these petty, elementary insults are all he’s got. The pilot smirks in a way that has a middle-aged man clearly avoiding him where he was passing by him in the hallway.

    _Game on, bitch._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, guys! So, yea, I know this chapter is basically all dialogue and it’s kind of boring compared to other chapters, but it’ll pick up again for the next chapter or the one after that. I had to do some setting up for future plot points, ya dig? XD Also, this chapter has been sitting in my google docs completely finished for four days now because I’m a dummy who thought I already posted this Lol. But anyway, I know there isn’t much Reed900 action like what I promised last chapter, but they’ll have their time to truly shine eventually, I promise! 😅 So yeah, feel free to shout at me about literally anything at all, and Thank y’all so much for reading!! 😄💕💕


	6. The Verdict and the Trouble

    Hank woke up  at an ungodly hour this morning due to a nightmare again. He wonders if it’s the slight increase in social activity he’s being subjected to or if he’s just becoming less affected by the alcohol he tries so desperately to drown unpleasant memories with. Hank has his bets on the latter, but he won’t rule out the former.

    Being up this early in the morning with no desire to go back to sleep means another morning where he goes out to eat breakfast just as it opens. The only reason he doesn’t start his day drinking like he nearly did last time he was in this situation is because he still vividly remembers the pure shock on everyone’s faces. Still fucking priceless, and still worth getting his cranky ass up and at ‘em if he ain’t going back to sleep anyway.

    Just like last time, when he goes out to get his food, his military-lunch-lady doesn’t hide her surprise. Hank’s a bit disappointed, though, when the other food workers don’t openly stare at him like he has a second head like they had before. That was half the fun, messing with their heads so obviously. Now they’re just occasionally glancing at him while they work and cook.

    He doesn’t know if it’ll be worth it to do this again within the next couple of months. A damn shame.

    He sits down at his table, eating slowly because he isn’t even all that hungry– he literally only wanted to see the workers’ faces. By the time he’s done eating, an hour and a half has passed, and Hank suddenly realizes that he hasn’t seen Connor at all. He glances around, looking for any other trainees, and he finds the group Connor’s twin (he already forgot his name again, shit) always hangs around at, but neither brother is there. Something strange settles in his gut and he doesn’t like it one single bit.

    Hank gets up and puts his tray away, forcing himself to stop thinking about it. It doesn’t work very well at all because he’s instantly imagining Connor having another “mood dip”, as what’s-his-face called it. Maybe he’s just taking care of Connor or something–

    Worry.

    This feeling in his gut is worry.

_ Oh fuck no. Nope. Not happening. Not fuckin’ today, not fuckin’ ever. _

    Hank promptly shoves every single thought of the twins out of his head and forces himself to take stock of what he has to drink and munch on in his room on his way back to it. It’s a good thing he does because he realizes he’s starting to run low on pretty much everything except protein bars and water bottles. He’s going to need to get more alcohol very soon, but fucking Fowler has been watching him closely recently. Apparently a guy can’t shower and get up early  _ one time _ before his friend (are they even still friends at all?) thinks he’s trying to work at getting better.

    God, it’s not like Hank’s super popular down here, either. It was already difficult enough filling his stash, and now it’s just going to be a right pain in the ass. See, this is why he didn’t mind Connor. The trainee saw what a fucking catastrophe he was, and didn’t do shit about it. He just let Hank be after that bottle cleaning incident, the same incident that lead him to recycle all of the old bottles and throw his dirty laundry into a large pile on the corner of the room.

    Wait, he’s not supposed to be thinking about him right now. Fuck you, brain.

    Well, there’s still Arnold, he guesses. He’s never given a shit about what Fowler or anyone else says. Honestly, Hank’s surprised that asshole still has his job. The thing is, though, Arnold can’t keep a secret for shit. Everyone and their uncles would know how low he stooped just to get some alcohol in his bunker. There’s also Vanessa. She’s a charming gal, but he’s not confident she would help him–

_ Is that Connor sitting in front of my door? _

    “Connor?” 

    The trainee’s head snaps up from where it was tucked into his knees. He’s curled up on the ground directly in front of his door, his arms squeezing his knees to his chest. A closer look shows that Connor’s eyes are bloodshot, and Hank would almost think he’s high right now if he didn’t know any better, but he does. He also sees the dark bags under his eyes. Christ, has this guy slept at all in the past week?

    Hank suddenly remembers thinking about if he was having a mood dip, and wonders if that’s what’s happening right now. He seemed fine enough yesterday at lunch, though, but he wasn’t there for dinner…

    “Good morning, Mr. Anderson.” He gets up to his feet, and the new position shows off how rumpled his training clothes look. He’s never seen Connor rumpled without seeing bandages. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but I was kind of hoping I could get one of your snacks you mentioned having a while ago?” he wrings his hands together.

    “Yeah.” Hank doesn’t think, he just answers. “Yeah sure. C’mon in. You look like you need it more than I do, and that’s sayin’ somethin’.”

    He quickly opens his door, and Connor shuffles in after him. Hank doesn’t think he’s ever seen him shuffle before, he abruptly notices. He doesn’t say anything about it, being acutely aware of how it feels to be in that position, and starts digging through the top drawer in his desk for one of the chocolate protein bars. He remembers Connor loving the brownies at lunch, and Hank prefers the peanut butter ones anyway.

    “Thank you very much for doing this. Ritch wanted me to eat something this morning, but I don’t think I can stomach a breakfast like he wants me to. and I’m sorry for sitting in front of your door, I was still trying to decide if I should ask you to part with your stash...” A pause. “You cleaned.”

    That comment immediately puts Hank on edge. He pauses from digging around for a moment and turns his head just enough to see Connor’s reaction. He has a tiny, tired smile on his face, and Hank doesn’t know how to feel about that.

    “Yeah? And what of it?” he grumbles defensively.

    The other hums, “I’m just glad there’s no chance of you stepping on a bottle and cutting your foot anymore, is all.”

    God damn it, he looked so genuine as he said that.

    He’s used to the stupid “Congratulations, you’re not hopeless!” talks that he got so often a few years back. “You cleaned your room! Yay!” “I’m glad you showered!” “Hank, did you shave? That’s good!” “Woah, you’re up early! I’m happy you’re better today.” All of these types of things he’s completely used to. They’re all wishes and quiet hopes that he’s finally getting better, when he isn’t and probably never will.

    He is absolutely not used to hearing “Now you probably won’t accidentally hurt yourself because your room is sort of kinda clean!” Wasn’t that Connor’s excuse for cleaning up his shit last time he was in here? He didn’t want Hank to get hurt by tripping or shattering a bottle?

    He doesn’t know how to react, so he simply grunts an acknowledgement and gets back to his search, hoping his pause wasn’t too noticeable. Hank finds what he’s looking for and turns around. He hands two protein bars to Connor, who takes them with the expression of someone who doesn’t want to eat even  _ this _ much.

    Hank, against his better judgement, decides to prod a bit. He won’t force the kid to talk, but something must have happened if he looks this offended by food, and Hank has always been known for being a bit nosy at times. He’s stated this many times before, and he’ll state this many times again.

    “Did you see something that made you lose your appetite in one of those slides they show you new comers?”

    He remembers not wanting to eat for a day or two after seeing those gory pictures. Some were of Kaijus that had been torn apart, blue coated guts just lying in the middle of the road, others of what remained of people who were completely smashed under collapsed buildings. He hates that he’s seen both of those in person now, too.

    Connor seems a bit confused before realization hits, “Oh, no. Those aren’t anything I haven’t studied in detail before.”  _ What the hell kind of things did his trainer have him studying, then? _ “No, uh… We were just caught lying on our evaluation exams two days ago.”

_ What. _

    “You  _ cheated _ , on the single thing that measures your  _ entire worth _ here? Are you fucking insane, Connor!?”

    Connor’s gaze snaps up to him from the floor, “No. We didn’t cheat, we  _ lied _ . We know a lot more than I think we’re supposed to know at this stage, and we don’t want to graduate early, so we purposefully marked questions wrong on the written evaluation and held back during the physical ones.” His gaze goes distant like it was before, and he drops down to sit on Hank’s bed. “I thought we were in the clear, but I guess we must’ve slipped at some point because we had to talk to Marshal Fowler about it.”

   Hank knows better than to force someone with that distant look in their eyes to get up and do anything, so if he needs to carry on the conversation to let Connor settle for a moment, so be it. If Hank is secretly curious about why and how he and Ritch (that was his name!) lied on the evaluations and almost got away with it, so be it. 

    “Why the hell would you not wanna graduate early? Do you even understand how good that looks on records?”

    “I–” Connor blinks a few times, the glazed look on his face slowly disappearing. “I suppose it doesn’t really matter anymore. The entire thing is out of our hands, now.” He stands up with perfect posture. “We’ll reap what we sowed, and when worse comes to worst we can still be bodyguards or something of the like, just as Ritch said. Ten years of combat training has to mean  _ something _ , right?”

    Connor meets his eyes. “I… feel more relaxed now, oddly enough. I suppose I just had to get it off of my chest. Thank you very much for the protein bars and for listening to me complain about my own decisions. If there’s anything you think I can do for you before I likely leave, don’t hesitate to ask.” he finishes with a small smile.

    Part of Hank really wants to say that he wasn’t exactly complaining about his decisions, he was just stressing about the consequences that he was smart enough to realize he had. Another tiny part of him wanted to ask the trainee for booze as repayment, but there’s no way in hell he’s doing that. Yet another part wanted to remind Connor that he also gave him the blanket and stress ball, but he knows he’s thankful for that, and Hank isn’t going to go out of his way to be an asshole like that. Instead, he tries to actually use his head for once and does something stupid, against his own judgement.

    “Don’t worry about it. Fowler’s a pretty understandable guy, and you two are smart people. Whatever reason you had for underplaying your skills must’ve been a damn good one because you’re not stupid. And he’ll see that, too, if he doesn’t already. I mean, he lets my useless ass bum around here, so…”

    He tries to comfort him. What’s almost worse is that it seems to work.

    “Let’s hope so. But, again, I honestly don’t think you’re as useless as you seem to have convinced yourself you are.” He turns and heads to the door as he talks over his shoulder, “Whatever may happen to me, I hope you remember that you aren’t as terrible as you keep trying to make yourself out to be. Brains are just stupid like that, I should know.” He opens the door, “Thank you again, for everything.” And he’s gone.

    It takes Hank at least a minute, if not longer, to finally have his first clear thought in the silent chaos his head suddenly became.

    He doesn’t like how Connor seems to understand him better than any of the therapists assigned to him did.

    Hank can’t even decide if he should be disappointed in his old therapists, somewhat proud of Connor for being aware as all hell, or let himself be worried for the trainee (is he considered a trainee anymore, though?). He’s leaning towards the third option, with a healthy dosage of the first. He knew his therapists were shit for him. That’s the main reason he started drinking all the time, they never really worked for him. He also knows that Connor has some mental issues of his own he’s slowly working through, but when his mind tries to connect the guy who seems in tune with how Hank’s feeling most of the time with someone who hasn’t even turned 25 yet, it just doesn’t work.

    Hank suddenly remembers why he didn’t put on his mean act around Connor; he saw some of himself in the trainee. At the time, he was pretty pretty he was just self-projecting, but as time has passed, it’s becoming more and more clear that this is just how he is. 

    Wait a minute, back the hell up.

    Connor mentioned  _ ten years _ of combat training? Fucking hell, when will this kid stop surprising him? Except Connor was right during that first day he sat at Hank’s table, he really isn’t a kid anymore, is he? Hank always assumed he had a rough and extremely censored childhood, what with the lack of common life knowledge and shit. After that first day of evaluations, it was clear to not just Hank, but to everyone that the twins had previous training. Ten whole fucking years, though? Why the hell wouldn’t they just skip training altogether? They’re partners, aren’t they?

    Unless they’re not.

    Every time he’s ever seen those two in the same room, which is admittedly not very often for Hank, they’ve either been silent, tense, or arguing. While he can see that they’re trying their best for one another, it certainly wouldn’t seem like that if he was in one of their positions. It’d be like the other is constantly pushing back, with the exception of when some kind of mess is being dealt with or they’re being silent again.

    Hank wonders if this is what people saw when his friendship with Jeff started going downhill. He has a sinking feeling that it probably is. 

    Jesus, if that’s the case, then no wonder they don’t want to graduate early and be forced to work together. Now, the next question is does Hank want to have a small chat with Jeff about this particular situation? He should have known about all of this before it became a problem, after all.

    No, he probably shouldn’t. They can handle themselves just fine

    He groans and rubs his face with his hands. He should stop inviting Connor in his room to grab things. It always leads to a lot of thinking and some kind of big ass realization. It’s getting tiring.

**•◊•◊•◊•◊•**

    Gavin is finally on his way back to his room from breakfast. During the entire meal, Tina wouldn’t stop grilling him about RItch again. He gets it, he really, truly does. He knows what it looks like for a guy who has exactly one friend to suddenly start insulting another guy then get insulted back completely consensually. To everyone else, it looks like he made a new friend or possibly more than one (“Slut Gavin” has officially made a reappearance, and he wants to ram everybody’s head into a wall. He’s never been anything less than modest with anyone except two people.), even though this is far from the case.

    Right?

    Yes, definitely. Even if he did want some kind of friend, they aren’t built on insults. People just need to shut the fuck up.

    Therefore, he purposely takes the longer way to his room that brings him closer to the training quarters in some secret wish that Ritch will pop around the corner and they’ll have another go so he can blow off some steam. Gavin actually ended up taking Ritch’s advice and briefly brainstormed some “fancier” insults for the picky, posh boy last night when he couldn’t sleep. He better be fucking thankful because having to think of these things was kind of embarrassing, since he’s known for being a natural assho–

    “ALEX!!”

    Gavin freezes. That was Luther who just yelled. The same Luther that everyone’s convinced has a vocal problem that prevents him from speaking louder than an indoor speaking tone and a chemical imbalance that prevents him from ever getting angry. The Luther that never once yelled at Gavin during training, despite the larger man being in the last steps of his apprenticeship at the time and had full authority to.

    What the fucking hell did Alex do to piss off  _ Luther _ of all people?

    Gavin, the nosy fuck he is, sets off to the training room.

    Gavin rounds a corner and enters the hall that connects with the training area. He starts hearing people swearing and telling someone (presumably Alex) to just leave, and then that fucking idiot starts trying to pick a fight with Luther, the fucking  _ instructor _ . Gavin pokes his head in, starting to become genuinely worried about the rest of this class and Luther. He may be an asshole, but he isn’t heartless.

    Luther looks like he’s about to spontaneously combust with rage right there in the center of the room, and that scares the shit out of Gavin. He has never once been seen genuinely mad, let alone ready to rip someone to pieces like he does now. This Alex character suddenly barks out that he could throw Luther down, despite being less than half of the instructor’s side. What a fucking moron.

    After a closer look, Gavin realizes that Alex was the dude that couldn’t even take one passing insult from him. That one jackass with Ritch in the hall on that second day of training season. He wasn’t even trying to poke at him, but Alex, nicknamed ‘explosion kid’ by the pilot, kept true to the nickname and exploded immediately. Hell, Gavin wasn’t even the one who started it, it was entirely that asshole. He steps in quickly so the other fuck-tards don’t escalate things even more.

    That’s the thing about someone always starting fights, if that person’s smart, they also get really good at calming things down. Gavin just so happens to be one of the smart ones.

    “I was taking the long way back to my room when I heard someone shouting swears around here?” Explosion kid turns to him and– oh shit, he has a knife, and Gavin knows for a fucking fact that trainees aren’t allowed to have any kind of weapon, but he continues on normally anyway, “That’s kind of my area of expertise, you know? And, like, who the  _ fuck _ managed to get gentle giant over here mad? Not even  _ I _ could do that and pissing people off is literally my entire personality.”

    “Gavin,” Luther says calmly, the scary kind of calm that makes him hesitate, “We don’t need you right now.”

    Gavin raises his eyebrows and steps into the room. “Are you sure about that?” He asks softly, genuinely.

    He’s glad that Luther’s features loosen a bit, losing that edge of murder. He’s the only one who seems to understand that Gavin can handle cases like these because he once was (and still kind of is) a case like this. He understands how they work and he knows how to handle himself well enough to not lose in a potential fight, or at least enough to not go down easy so real help can come. Luther starts stepping back to the room’s intercom, probably to contact Fowler about this. A knife of that kind and size doesn’t even belong in this base, let alone in a trainee’s hands.

    “This ain’t any of your business, cocksucker. Why don’t you just go off and play with your boy toy, huh?” explosion kid calls out, and Luther looks about ready to kill again.

    “Ah, so you’ve caught on to the fake ‘Slut Gavin’ rumors.” he steps in quickly, “Why am I not surprised?”

    “This is the same guy who picked a fight with you in front of Fowler’s official office,” a very familiar, teasing voice calls out from his left. “but I wouldn’t expect you to remember that with how many people you quite literally bump into. Can you even handle a situation like this without losing to your internal rage? I promise to not say ‘I told you so’ if you can’t.” Gavin can see the slight bit of mirth in his eyes, even if he isn’t smirking like he has a few times before.

    At least five people hiss “ _ Ritch _ ” quietly. Apparently this is out of character for the robot. Gavin feels almost proud of himself.

    Gavin fixes him with a glare the other has already received from him multiple times, “Watch me, dick. I’m about to show you a prim and proper end to this shitshow like no one ain’t ever seen before.”

    “Go right on ahead and try.” Ritch says, cocky.

    Gavin turns his attention over to Alex the Asshole, shutting him up with one of his real glares. He starts walking up to him in the center of the room, ignoring Luther’s warning look. He’ll take care of this without blood, even if it’s just to wipe that smug-ass look on Dickie’s face.

    “That your boy toy? I thought you would do better than  _ that _ .”

_ Deep breaths, just like you were taught _ , Gavin thinks to himself.  _ You’re way better than this piece of shit, and you’re about to save the day. Deep breaths. _

    “Alright,” he begins once he’s three steps away from Alex, “you heard literally everyone in this room. Come on out with me or else you’re gonna have an even worse day, ‘cause unlike Luther and friends here, I ain’t afraid of breaking some rules, and I ain’t afraid of gettin’ Fowler up in here. I’m just fuckin’ lazy right now.”

    “How about I fucking throw you down and when I win you’ll see that this was all a mistake and I’m gonna be needed on the future team?” he spits in Gavin’s direction, but it missed him completely and hits the floor.

    Gavin loudly barks laugh. “Holy shit–” he wheezes. “You actually think–” he takes a deep breath,. “You actually think  _ you _ could throw  _ me _ down?” He takes a large breath and takes half a step to fucking show this guy how it’s done, but then sees Ritch in the corner of his eye and pauses.

    There’s no way in hell he’s going to prove that asshole right. Plus, he’s gotta do good by Luther, he’s trusting him to not become a part of the problem.

    He relaxes his stance again, “Nah, man. I just told you I’m a lazy asshole. I’m not gonna make a fool outta ya here ‘cause I don’t wanna. So seriously, come on.”

    “Or maybe you’re just a coward?! Ever think of that?!”

    “Jesus fucking christ. I don’t think I’ve used that one since middle school, and a certain someone–” he pointedly looks at Ritch, “–loves to remind me that I’m the king of childish insults.” He then turns to where Luther is still back by the room’s intercom, watching the whole event carefully. “Was I this bad during training, Luther? You were an apprentice back then, weren’t you? I swear to god I took a hint better than this cunt.”

    Luther, shockingly, nods his head. “You did, and you also knew when to finally leave, and when to stop if it was serious.”

    Gavin hears Alex stomp a few steps closer to him and taking a deep breath as if he was going to yell something else, so Gavin quickly spins and socks him in the jaw  _ hard _ . Alex’s head snaps to the side with a crack, then the trainee goes down like a bag of bricks. Gavin takes in the shocked silence with a self-satisfied smirks as he confiscates the knife, finding both the silence and the name written on this knife worth the injury to his hand. Fuck, hurts bad now. He knew better than to punch like that, and yet he still did because he’s an idiot. Fuck.

    Ritch suddenly starts speaking. “Just as I thought. You can’t do anything calmly.”

    The pilot blinks hard, then spins his body with a step back to fully face the robot with a glare, the whole movement purposely exuding over-the-top “I’m white and offended” vibes. Ritch still doesn’t have a real smile on his face, but Gavin can see the signs of his lips quirking up at the corners and he still has that same amusement in his eye as when they’re passing insults in the halls. It must be Christmas day for him; a quick and easy fight  _ and _ another quick match with baby face!

    “Bitch? I told you I’d get him outta here with a prim and proper ending, and he looks damn prim and proper to me! Not even a single drop of blood anywhere!” Gavin hoists Alex over his shoulder in a firefighter hold, “He ain’t fighting or bitchin’ now, and I didn’t really fight or bitch either! And I didn’t see  _ you _ try to do anything about this, Dick.”

    “I thought we already discussed that that was not my name.” Ritch still doesn’t smirk, but Gavin swears he can see it clearly, anyway.

    “Not as childish as your face. Or your arms. Really dude, I’ve said this before, but eat a damn steak, a burger or  _ something _ .” He starts walking out of the room. “I’m gonna go carry this loaf of nothing to Fowler– because I can be a responsible pilot when I want to– and you–” he points to Ritch with his free hand “–are gonna thank me later. With actual words, in front of my friend.”

    “In your dreams, wetland grass.”

    “Fuck you.”

    “I already said no than–”

    Gavin hurries out with his free hand high in the air and his middle finger even higher, “Sorry! I can’t understand dumbass-ese!”

    As he walks away to Fowler’s official office, versus his “private” one, he hears Luther telling the trainees to do their warm ups and to wait for Chloe because he’s going to be coming along with Gavin. The pilot almost groans at that, but stops himself short. It’ll probably look really bad if Gavin just walked into the busy office area carrying an unconscious kid on his shoulder, so it’s probably for the best that Luther the gentle giant comes along with him.

    Speak of the devil and he shall arrive, Luther appears right next to Gavin, making him flinch slightly.

    “How the hell do you move so quietly? I’m like, half your size and I move around like a damn elephant.”

    “Actually, I move more like an Elephant, since they walk almost silently despite being so large.” he answers calmly, which is strange because Luther isn’t known to play along with Gavin’s bull shit.

    “So… What the hell did this guy do?” Gavin asks genuinely for once, “I’ve never once seen you get angry, let alone blow up like that. This isn’t even the first time a student pulled a knife on someone else.” He turns to look up at Luther, who’s looking at him with suspicion, “I wasn’t lying when I said I was just taking the long route to my room and just happened to hear the commotion.”

    Luther looks away contemplatively for a few moments, then apparently decides to spill the beans.

    “He almost stabbed two of the other trainees. That’s his third knife, and the least damaging one. The other two were confiscated.”

    Gavin completely freezes. He can’t be fucking serious. Gavin is very suddenly very close to exploding and punching a wall with his bad hand, so he starts double-timing to the office.

    “Are you shitting me? I haven’t even seen a knife even this damn good since my high school years, and if it weren’t for the evidence written on this thing I’d hide it in my stash! Shit, how the hell did he get not one, but three from this dude?!”

    “I don’t know.”

    “Do you know who did the inspections? When they were done last? I swear to fucking god I am going to–”

    “You are going to do nothing, Gavin.”

    He balks, “Are you fucking kidding me?”

    “You’re going to come with me to see Fowler, we are going to get this sorted out, then he and whoever he got this from will be gone, and you won’t worry about this.”

    “How the fucking hell and I supposed to not worry about this?!” Gavin shouts, getting the attention of two deliverers, so he hushes his tone into something deadlier, “I already have personal beef with these guys so I don’t mind–”

    “Gavin  _ please _ .” Luther rubs his hand over his face and massages just over eyebrow, a place Gavin knows where headaches commonly form for him.

    Gavin stops talking. Then he’s talking again in a more calm tone.

    “I wasn’t actually this bad, right? Like, I know I wasn’t swinging knives around, but you weren’t just saying that to make sure I didn’t blow up in there, were you?”

    He hates the fact that Luther doesn’t answer for a second or two.

    “You may have always been a jerk, and you may have been much more of a jerk than ever during your first few weeks here, but you’ve always known when poking the bear turned into wrestling with it, and you always knew better than to wrestle.” Luther turns to him, “As much as you hate being called a decent person, you’ve always been fiercely protective of those you really care about.” He faces forward again.

    Gavin doesn’t know what to say to that. He’s always been called a menace, an asshole, an inconvenience by those who were polite, but he can’t remember a single time anyone had anything nice to say to him. Not since his partner, anyway.

    God, he fucking misses him. He was the only person who understood him, and then he–

_ No. Not now. _

    “Gavin?”

    Gavin startles out of his thoughts at the sound of Luther’s voice. He readjusts Alex’s body on his shoulder before looking at the tall man.

    “You okay?” Luther asks, genuine concern in his expression. He’s holding the door open to the office area.

    Gavin shakes his head to get himself out of this funk he’s in, “Never better. Let’s go put this guy in the ground, and try to keep me out of it.” He steps inside. “Hey, you’ll have my back, right big guy? I mean, I know I knocked him out, but it better and more realistic than whatever alternative anyone else was trying to think up.”

    Luther sighs and shakes his head, “Yes, I will vouch for you. Just keep your mouth shut. Marshal Fowler has been in a prickly mood for the past few days, and I’d rather not have you testing him. Again.”

    “I’ll try my best. Or maybe I won’t. Depends on how much of what I’m going to hear about this kid is going to piss me the fuck off.”

    Another sigh to Gavin’s right, but Luther doesn’t say anything this time.

    They walk into Fowler’s office without even knocking, and all the rest went by extremely fast. They filed out the reasons why Alex is being dismissed with Gavin acting as a two-time witness, then he tells them the full names of the likely owners of these knives. He’s sent on his way not long after that, since Luther and Fowler need to talk about some lying dipshits or something. He doesn’t actually care all that much. As he turns the corner in the hall to  _ finally _ get to his room, he almost literally runs into someone.

    “Watch where you’re fuckin– Anderson?”

    The ex-pilot grunts and rolls his eyes in lieu of a greeting.

    Gavin steps aside as the old drunkard walks to the office areas. “The hell are you doing here? And up this early too.”

    “I’m goin’ to talk to Fowler, just fuck off.” he grumbles over his shoulder.

    “Fowler’s busy talkin’ to Luther about some lyin’ scum right now, so he ain’t free.”

    Hank stops, “Those liars aren’t even close to scum, and they’re exactly what I want to talk to him about.” He doesn’t say anything else as he hurries through the door, and slams it shut behind him.

    Gavin knows something’s up. Hank doesn’t think highly of  _ anyone _ , let alone people who apparently lie on important documents, because that’s the only kind of lying Fowler handles like this. That, and he hasn’t seen the old man hurry  _ anywhere _ in years, especially not for any kind of living being, especially humans.

    The thing is, Gavin also knows when it’s not any of his business, and when looking into it will only bring more trouble than it’s worth. The other thing is that Gavin doesn’t give a single flying fuck, and that’s why he’s pretty sure his disciplinary folder is one of the largest ones in this joint.

    The grand point of all of this is Gavin really doesn’t want to tango through the lying case, but if anyone thinks he’s not gonna have a part in taking care of this shank business, they’re very wrong. People like that cover up their tracks well enough that they’ll get away with it, even if everyone knows it’s them. Plus, Fowler probably wouldn’t find much to begin with since he’s busy a lot of the time. Gavin is almost excited to finally have a reason to come after them.

**•◊•◊•◊•◊•**

    It’s a few days after the Alex commotion, and Connor’s normally silent dinner is interrupted by an unfamiliar man in a suit. It’s strange and jarring to see because the only kind of uniforms he’s seen around here are boots, cargo pants, and plain t-shirts with the occasional jacket. He calmly walks up to Connor and simply asks him to finish his meal quickly and to meet Marshal Fowler in his main office, then he walks away towards where Ritch is sitting without any explanation.

    He looks at Hank, wondering if he has ever had this kind of treatment, or if this is exactly what Connor thinks it is. Hank just sends him a confused glance from where he sits diagonal of him (Connor has slowly been scooting closer to him in hopes that one day they can sit across from each other in a charade of actually being social, and it seems to be working so far). That means it’s what he thinks it is, and today is the day that they get sent out of training.

    He’s already done research on what kind of careers he and Ritch can get into after this whole mess, and there were plenty as long as they have the connections. The only problem is, once Amanda hears they got kicked out, all of their contacts will be gone instantly. They’re going to have to start at the very bottom and work their way up, which could take years before they get a realistically livable wage, and that’s if they live near the kaiju warning areas. It sucks, but Connor is just one step away from accepting this as his fate, that final step being actually hearing the verdict come out of Fowler’s mouth.

    He doesn’t finish his food. He just sits there and stares at what he did manage to get down before the man in the suit came along. He glances over every now and then to see when Ritch gets up so he can follow him. The moment Connor sees his twin placing his dishes in their bins, he gets up as well. He says his routine goodbye to Hank, who surprisingly wishes him luck in a low tone, and puts his own food and utensils in their assigned bin as well.

    “Are you ready?” Ritch says behind him. Connor can almost  _ feel _ his silent judgement for not eating enough.

    “As I’ll ever be,” he wrings his hands together, “You?”

    “Quite the same. Come along.” Ritch using his polite, “fancy gathering” voice never means anything good.

    Ah, apparently  _ that’s _ all that was needed in order to reach that final step of acceptance. Huh.

    “I’m sure you know already, but I’ve been doing research on exactly which jobs we’ll be eligible for once we are sent out, and the selection actually isn’t–”

    “It is not certain that we are being dismissed.” Ritch interrupts, “I thought I told you this already.”

    Connor huffs, “It never hurts to be prepared.”

    “I suppose not, but call me optimistic that we’ll be staying here.” He looks to Connor without turning his head, “If they have any brains at all, they’ll want us here. We are smarter and stronger than we made ourselves out to be, and came clean as soon as we knew we were caught. They know we only did this because we were forced to.” He focuses his eyes forward again, “I do not think we’ll dismissed. At least not today.”

    Connor suddenly has the feeling that Ritch is saying this more for himself than anyone else. It didn’t even occur to him that his twin would be bothered by this. After all, he was the one dragged into this, and he has repeatedly stated that this was  _ Connor’s _ dream, not his own. Well, that and his normal attitude of not really caring about change because he’s extremely adaptable. They both are, but Connor has never been able to stop himself from getting attached to certain things. It’s just how he functions.

    The rest of the walk to Marshal Fowler’s office is spent in silence and with that man in the suit attempting to trail behind them. Connor gives him points for effort, and he’s sure Ritch does too, unless he’s logging all of his mistakes so they don’t make the same ones, which is just as likely. 

    Inside the office area– which is not just Marshal Fowler’s office and a Waiting room like the other one, but is instead a large room that has plenty of desks for many people– no one pays them or the suited man behind them any mind. As Connor casually turns his head to look around the office, he sees the guy in the suit take a left as they keep going straight to the glass door. Ritch opens the door for Connor, and shuts it behind himself. They’re met with four people in the room. Marshal Fowler, Luther, Chloe, and an older lady they don’t recognize.

    He glances over at Ritch, who then does the same. He can tell that Ritch has finally accepted that they’re not going to be staying here past tomorrow morning, if even that.

    “Good evening Connor, Ritch.” the marshal greets politely.

    “Good evening.” they chorus together.

    “I hope you don’t mind waiting a minute for our fifth member, he hasn’t returned from getting you quite yet.”

    “Oh, the man following us.” Ritch blurts. It startles Connor because he’s never seen him blurt things out before, even before training. It’s always himself that does that.

    At the unfamiliar woman’s raised brow, Connor tries to salvage what he can. “He was taking corners too soon after we had, and his shoes would click on the metal, rather than clang against it like everyone else’s shoes. Those are the only reasons why we know.”

    “Well, no, those aren’t the only reasons we know, but those were the main reasons.”

_ What the hell are you doing, Ritch? _

    “I see, and you know the tells of this? Used to being followed, perhaps?” the woman asks in a way that seems like she’s trying to get dirt on them for a crime.

    “No ma’am,” Ritch says before Connor can get anything in, “We’ve just been highly trained. I doubt many things could sneak up on us.”

    Connor lightly smacks him on the thigh with his hand. Just what the hell is he thinking? What is he hoping to accomplish?

    Suit guy walks through the door before anything else can happen, thank goodness. He looks to Chloe and Luther and finds them hiding smiles. Connor doesn’t have a clue of where this is going, now. Why would they be hiding smiles? Chloe and Luther always had their backs, right? Unless this whole ordeal put them against him and Ritch… Damn it, he just doesn’t know.

    The man in the suit entering the office pulls Connor from his thoughts.

    “The marshal was right,” Chloe states, finally properly revealing her smile, “They both saw you.”

    “Damn, really? You must have some serious training under your belt!” the man smiles, and all of it is overplayed. Connor wonders where the man would rather be right now. “How old did you say you were, again?”

    He never offered his age. “23, sir.”

    “23?” the older woman says, “Both of you?”

    “Yes ma’am.” Ritch responds respectfully, if not a tad sharp.

    “And how long have you trained?” suit man asks, “Marshal Fowler said that you were in training for eleven years?”

    Connor hates this, so he doesn’t speak. He doesn’t want to accidentally screw both of them over with his fat, dumb mouth. Thankfully, Ritch doesn’t wait too long to respond and seems to have gotten out of his rebellious mood.

    “Almost, sir.”

    “That means you started training at thirteen?”

    “Just about, sir, if I remember correctly.” Ritch doesn’t like this as well. He can tell by his tone.

    “May I ask why we’re here?” Connor asks cautiously, but he’s ignored.

    “What kinds of things were you guys doing?” suit-man asks, sitting on the desk.

    For a long minute, Ritch doesn’t say anything, so Connor does.

    “I’m not sure I understand.”

    “He means,” the older woman starts, “What did you guys do under your stepmother’s care?”

    Connor makes a subtle face at the word “stepmother”, but he immediately knows that everyone still saw it. He hasn’t heard anyone besides his new friends and Ritch say that word in regards to Amanda. It just sounds…  _ wrong  _ coming out of anyone else’s mouth, as opposed to “trainer” or “guardian” like other adults in the past have called her.

    Ritch answers sharply, “We trained.”

    A long second goes by, then the marshal speaks. “And?”

    Another long, uncertain second, then Connor begins explaining. “Well, we started with simple self-defense moves because–”

    “No, no.” Suit interrupts, “What else did you do besides training?” Connor doesn’t like how blank his face is, and that he can’t decipher what emotions he’s hiding.

    Wait… Are they trying to get dirt on Amanda? Ritch did mention that people tend to blame the parents or guardians in this type of situation. How much trouble would he get in for throwing her under the bus? For making sure he never has to go back under her care

    “We played down at the nearby park occasionally.” Ritch supplies.

    “Yes, around once every month when we were younger. In later years, though, we normally just studied our books–”

    “Because we needed to be jaeger pilots, and we wanted to make sure we were eligible to get in.”

    “You say you ‘needed’ to be jaeger pilots,” Luther starts, “Is that what you wanted, though?”

    Connor doesn’t hesitate like Ritch does, “I’ve wanted to be a jaeger pilot since people tried to make Marshal Fowler and Mr. Anderson television stars for how well they were doing in this line of work. Training has been… exceptionally hard as a whole, but I still want this more than any other job I’m eligible for, and I would like a job that uses the skills I’ve built.” He looks to Ritch, who is still looking to the ground with a frown and his eyebrows pushed together, “I don’t think I can speak for my brother, though.” he adds quietly.

    Everyone waits patiently for him to speak, surprisingly. Normally in interviews like this, they start asking simpler questions to urge the person on, but they still don’t. It takes 17 seconds, Connor counts, and his face never changes.

    “I did not originally want to be a pilot, but I started training because Connor needed me to in order to be one, and I wasn’t prepared to be separated from him and I didn’t want to crush his dream. I didn’t have any aspirations beyond just wanting to help people, either, so I really had nothing to lose. I did not like training, and I don’t think I like knowing that I can easily kill a man with a single punch or jab if I wanted to.” Ritch’s face relaxes back to normal and he raises his head, “But I like it here so far. The atmosphere was a bit much to adjust to at first, but now that I’m used to the schedules and the company, it’s actually somewhat pleasant. And it’s just as Connor said, I’d rather pilot a jaeger with someone than do any other job I’m qualified for, and I don’t want to put all of my training to waste. So this is the best option for me that I’m aware of after doing a bit of research.”

    “Research?” Chloe asks, “You were prepared to leave today?”

    “Always be prepared for anything so nothing catches you too far off guard.” Connor quotes Amanda.

    The older woman moves along, “Marshal Fowler said that you two mainly trained on your own?”

    “Yes, ma’am.” the twins say together.

    “We had instructional videos and pointers from Amanda helping us along the way–”

    “But we mostly perfected our fighting style on our own and practiced against each other so our styles would perfectly compliment each other’s–”

    “Because that’s what was going to make us more compatible and help our chances in becoming a pilot.”

    Suit-man nods, “And you are supposed to be identical twins, no?”

    Connor sees Ritch tense up out of the corner of his eye. This is still a sensitive topic. It ends up being Luther that starts these questions.

    “I understand that you wear heeled boots due to medical reasons, but I’ve been wondering why you have a condition that normally only women who wear high heels that are too high for too long have in the first place.”

    This is an easier question for Ritch, he can tell, “I used to wear high heels around the orphanages and foster homes we were placed at while growing up. I first started wearing them when I was six and simply wanted to be taller than everyone I knew, then never stopped once I realized it helped people separate Connor and myself apart. That’s also why I started wearing lighter clothes and cutting my hair shorter, while Connor prefers his hair longer in the front and continues to wear darker clothes despite Amanda’s displeasure with it.”

    Connor nods his agreement.

    “And the eyes? How are your eyes blue? Do you wear contacts that we haven’t been informed of?”

    Connor takes over, knowing this is a tough subject for his brother, “Normally it is impossible for this to happen without the help of contacts, but there are… There is research being done on how people can change their eye color. I don’t know why this research is being done in the first place, but he was signed up as part of the ‘helping people tell us apart’ thing.” He sees the older woman about to speak but presses on anyway, pretending that he didn’t, “We have very different personalities, and extremely different levels of tolerance for various different things, so Ritch and I wanted to be as separated as one could be from their identical twin for the… well-being of our minds.”

    “He said you were signed up? Not that you signed up?” the older woman asks immediately.

    They wait for the second part of the question, and when it doesn’t come, Ritch answers in a wary tone. “Yes, ma’am.”

    “Did you want this procedure?” Chloe gets to the point. Everyone is staring at them more intently and it’s making Connor uncomfortable.

    “Even as a minor, I had to sign my consent in order to be operated on since it is an experimental procedure.”

    No one seems pleased with that answer. Not a single person, least of all the man in the suit. He’s the one who asks the next question.

    “That doesn’t answer if you wanted it or not. You could have signed those papers if you felt like it was the lesser of two evils.”

    Connor turns his head to fully look at Ritch, and he isn’t looking very well. His face is too stoic and his unsettling eyes (they always are to Connor at least) seem even more unsettling now that they’re growing distant. His body’s too tense, too ready to run out of the room or fight to get out of the situation. He hasn’t seen Ritch like this in years, not since Amanda had still affected him pretty badly when she’d scold them. This is usually Connor’s thing, and he distantly wonders if this is how Ritch always feels when he gets this way, or if he just gets annoyed like he seems because Connor seems to do this on a daily basis in recent times.

    He decides that Ritch likely does not feel this way about his episodes because he always seemed to have a way to get Connor to snap out of it. Yet he can’t do anything for Ritch right now, not anything that wouldn’t ultimately make his condition worse.

    It takes a minute of tense silence before everyone gives up, taking his silence as an answer seemingly simultaneously. It’s almost creepy how they’re like a hive mind or something. He catches the older woman’s eye as she gets up and silently leaves the room. Suit gets up next and breaks the long silence.

    “Well, I think that’s enough for us! Thank you so much for joining us, fellas. Hopefully this is the last time we see each other under these circumstances.” he laughs, holding out a hand for Connor, which he takes, “I’ll let you relax a bit here and let them tell you what the verdict is.”

    He leaves, and the room is plunged into silence again, this time less tense. It only lasts a few moments before Ritch speaks with an unexpectedly harsh tone.

    “What was that?”

    Marshal Fowler answers quickly, “That was us trying to find out if you were guilty of lying on important documents, or if Amanda was guilty of being an unfit guardian.” Yep, they definitely saw Connor’s face earlier. “She was the one found guilty.”

    “Just like that?” Connor asks with wide eyes, “She didn’t even do anything illegal–”

    “Not that we know of yet,” Chloe cuts off, “She was almost found to be unfit as a single mother due to her background in training young adults for the military mixed with her general personality and… unique view on certain things. Like how a teenager should be treated.”

    “A teenager has the presence of mind that children don’t have, so they don’t need coddling and should start learning how to care for themselves.” Ritch quotes. “It seems fair to us.” Connor nods along.

    Luther sighs, “But that isn’t really true. Look, I’m going to be straight with you– you know I always try to be– we’re going to have to set you up with therapists if you want to stay here.”

    They must see the surprise mixed with confusion on both of their faces because Chloe quickly explains.

    “We have therapists for all of our plots and a lot of our other personnel around here, so it’s not just you too personally, but I don’t think you guys realize how unhealthy both of your minds are.”

    “I know my head is all messed up.” Connor admits softly. He sees Ritch turn his head sharply to him, “I had to skip two days of evaluations because of a valid question some friends asked. I’m just shocked you’re allowing us to stay despite doing the two things that should get us dismissed the fastest, plus the apparent mental issues.”

    Marshal Fowler’s features softens in a way that Connor didn’t know was possible, “Most people in this place have some kind of mental issue, and you tried to tell me on your first day here that you had to lie on your application, so you did the next best thing when I didn’t listen.”

    “You’re making it sound like it’s your fault, sir.” Ritch makes his question a statement.

    “Yeah, well, it partially is my fault, but Amanda also shouldn’t have done what she did to you two, and you should have got proper help instead of ranting to Anderson about it.”

    Ritch’s head snaps back to Connor, obviously displeased, and Connor gets more tense than he already was because of it. He resists the urge to mess with the belt buckle loops on his pants.

    “Mr. Anderson..?”

    “Han–  _ Anderson _ came and talked to us today. Said to keep you guys around, and he never speaks for anyone. Even before when we piloted together he normally just kept to himself, so the fact that he felt the need to even speak about this to me says something.”

    “Mr. Anderson came and talked to you? About us?” Connor asks quietly, his voice barely above a pitiful whisper.

    It just doesn’t make sense, he’s only been a burden to the older pilot, why would he actively try to keep them here? He thought Mr. Anderson would be relieved to have him gone, to have him out of his space and no longer taking things from him and complaining about things that can’t be helped or changed. Or ones that apparently could be changed.

    So Hank Anderson doesn’t mind his presence after all. If he did, he wouldn’t have particularly cared if Connor left or not, yet he felt the need to do something about the possibility of him leaving. Connor almost decides that he doesn’t know how to feel about this, but then a sudden rush of happiness bursts inside of him.

    Someone saw him at some of his lowest and most annoying points, and yet they didn’t push him away. Mr. Anderson didn’t force him out or ignore him.

    “Connor.” Ritch hisses, and he has a feeling that’s not the first time he’s been called.

    He blinks hard, “Sorry, I apologize. I just… am really surprised he said anything. I thought he’d be annoyed of me by now, that he’s be indifferent that I’m gone at best…” He shakes his head to clear any lingering thoughts, “Anyway, I’m sorry, but what were you saying before?”

    Marshal Fowler laces his hands together, “I was saying that– between us only– keep up whatever it is you’re doing, because he’s looking less tormented than he has in a long while. I don’t think he’s actually tolerated someone being at his table for so long before, either. It’s obvious you talk to him, but does he talk to you too?”

    Connor shakes his head, “Not really? I don’t really talk to him either, it just sorta… happens, I guess. He asks something then I just keep going and never shut up like what I’m doing now and he just doesn’t tell me to shut up. But I just– I don’t know.” he shrugs, “I just don’t think he’s as horrible and grumpy as everyone’s been trying to tell me he is. Or maybe he is and I have low standards. That’s happened before, too.”

    “I think he’s more relaxed around you than anyone else.” Ritch adds to his surprise. “He probably wants to protect you like some kind of puppy, but you aren’t childish or stupid like most people who need protection, so you don’t end up annoying him.” He takes a breath. “Someone should get him a dog.”

    Marshal Fowler laughs,  _ laughs _ , with a little head shake and everything. Chloe and Luther seem just as surprised to see it. Connor wonders if the dog thing was some kind of inside joke.

    “Hank is a definite dog lover, good to know even that much is still obvious.” He goes back to his serious, stoic self with no evidence that he ever felt joy, “You start therapist-jumping in two days to find one that’s right for you, and you’ll be redoing all of your evaluations again starting tomorrow, and you better not fucking  _ think _ about lying or anything on these ones, ya hear? Or I’m gonna gut you like a fish.”

    “Yes, sir!” they say together, almost happily.

    Luther nods to the door, “Go on and get out of here. Start keeping people in mind for possible new partners.”

    “Yes, sir!” They repeat again with slight smiles, and they leave quickly.

    They have hope here after all. Thank god.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!! I'm so sorry this chapter took so long to get out! I got into a kind of funk where I could write _anything_ for a while, y'know? But!! Here it is!! I promise that, even though the first half of this chapter seems pointless or redundant, they will play a role in the plot in the future! Now! I am going to go to bed because I apparently don't know how to sleep at night so I'm crashing hard right now 😂 Thank you all so much for reading, and I hope you all have a pleasant day/night!! 💖💕


	7. Celebration

    Connor is just leaving the office area with Ritch right at his heels when someone suddenly pops up from around the corner. Connor flinches harshly, then relaxes with a huge sigh and small smile. It’s just Simon. The blond smiles apologetically, with the rest of the crew leaning up against the wall behind him starting to stand up straighter.

    “Well? What’s the news? Are you staying or going?” North asks impatiently.

    “We’re staying.” Ritch informs in a tone he hasn’t heard in a while. When Connor turns to look at him, his twin has a small smile and a light in his eyes that he thought Amanda successfully permanently squashed long ago. Content and relief.

    The four trainees all cheer at once, and Simon hops over to hug Ritch in one arm and Connor in the other. Connor short-circuits for a moment, but Ritch immediately gives a gentle hug back. Before he can copy his twin, though, Simon is letting go and Markus is taking his place, leading them away with one arm over each of their shoulders.

    “This is a cause for celebration!” He calls, making both twins cringe at the volume right by their ears.

    “Yeah! We already have someone who set up drinks and snacks in their bunker!” North cheers.

    That catches Connor’s attention, “Drinks? As in, alcoholic drinks? Aren’t those prohibited?”

    “Maybe for pilots they are, but for us normal people and trainees, it’s only looked down upon!”

    Josh elaborates a bit further. “Technically we’re not supposed to get drunk, but I’ve been getting close with some of the people who work in the lab downstairs, and they’re all allowed to have drinks every now and then, or they can do this weird petition thing to get a larger supply if there’s some kind of thing they’re celebrating. I just asked a couple of them if they could get one going so we could have a few drinks tonight.”

    “You were that confident we were going to stay?” Ritch asks.

    “Eh,” Markus says unsurely, “We knew you probably wouldn’t be sent off, not with how perfect you guys are for this job, but we figured this could be a sending off party if things went downhill. Now stop asking questions and lets get back to our bunker!”

    Markus then unloops his arms from their shoulders and sets off at a faster pace. Connor and Ritch quickly catch up to him. It doesn’t take too long to make it to Simon’s and Markus’ bunker, and when they do, there’s two other people waiting in front of it. One look at Ritch proves that he doesn’t know who these people are either, but they’re holding drinks, so they must be Josh’s scientist contacts.

    “Did you guys bring any snacks?” The tanned woman waiting calls amicably. 

    Simon shakes his head, “No, the cafeteria was completely closed, and no one was willing to donate to our cause.”

    The woman shakes her head with a forced frown, “The greedy fucks.” She smiles, “Lets get all of this inside,, then, shall we? I don’t want Hank or someone coming around the corner and seeing this.” She lifts up the two bottles of clear alcohol.

    “Why not?” Connor didn’t mean to ask out loud because he has a feeling why she would say that, but there’s no taking it back now.

    “Because this is his favorite stuff.” She walks through the door that’s been opened by Simon, “He used to always try to leech this off of me until what’s-his-face came along and was happy to give up his small ration. And now he’s on complete prohibition by the orders of the Marshal.” She sets them on the desk connected to the wall. “Honestly, it took him long enough.”

    Connor simply nods and makes a note of the brand while looking around the room. It’s an exact copy of his and Ritch’s shared room, except Simon and Markus have photos and drawings hung up with sticky-tack and little trinkets and other small souvenirs on the higher shelves along with plenty of fictional books among their brand new study material.

    Where Ritch and Connor decided against paying extra to get the study material, they signed up to get their own (which was almost free because Amanda had most of the books needed). Most people wouldn’t have that kind of luxury, and it makes Connor almost feel guilty for just a moment, then it goes away just as quickly when he spots a family picture on the shelf.

    This room makes the twins’ bunker seem empty and lifeless, but Connor doesn’t even know where to start in getting their room to look this lively, besides being cheesy and hanging up Jaeger posters when there’s a loading dock of them under the same roof. Maybe he’ll try drawing one of the newer models to hang up if it’s allowed– not that he can draw, but it’d be a nice challenge on one of his slower, emptier days.

    “Let’s get this started!” North suddenly shouts, making everyone cheer and Connor glad that these rooms are pretty much sound proof with all of the metal and concrete everywhere. 

    Instantly, there’s a bottle and a small cup pushed into his hand. The cup is partially filled with the clear stuff that the woman, Vanessa he learned, told him was Hank’s supposed favorite. Connor tries a sip of that first and finds it too bitter and strong for him, and the burning sensation is too off-putting for Connor, so he sets it aside. The second bottle is something pink that Simon put in his hand with a wink. A sip of this is like drinking some kind of fruity soda with a certain zip to it. Connor decides he likes it, and grabs the same brand in different flavors after reading it barely has 3% alcohol in it versus whatever the hell is in that clear stuff.

    A few hours and many,  _many_  drinks later, almost everyone is some degree of drunk and have split off into two groups. Markus turns out to be a very tactile when he’s drunk, and is currently cuddling Simon while he and North are giggling about anything and everything where they’re sitting in the corner on the floor. Josh is sitting on the lower bunk, gushing about something he can’t understand to Vanessa and Riley, and Ritch seems to be following along well enough from where he’s sitting calmly on the ground. It makes sense. Ritch was always more into the tech side of things, and Connor was more interested in biology and such. Neither of them really loved science, but that was their preferred types.

    Connor gets up from where he’s leaning against the desk with all of the drinks. Over the past few hours, he started a game with himself; how many bottles can he hide somewhere on himself before someone notices. At first it was a bit challenging, and he almost got caught twice, but now he has almost 13 bottles of different-colored wine coolers stashed in the fluffy jacket he’s wearing (everyone got hot and turned the air cooler, so Connor was given Markus’ jacket to keep warm after refusing to drink to keep warm) and in various pockets of his cargo pants, and everyone is too drunk and/or preoccupied to notice him blatantly taking a 14th one.

    Well, Ritch might be noticing him, but if he has, he’s made no move to stop him. He’d like to think that his brother has secretly joined in on this little game, or made his own in some way. It’s more likely that he just doesn’t care what Connor’s doing, though, and he tries to tell himself that it’s perfectly alright. It actually kind of works, this time.

    The point is, this was all fun earlier when people could still talk, but were stupid and loose enough to do and say ridiculous things. Now, though, he’s the only one sober enough to walk in a straight line (except for Ritch, who only choked down a beer or two), and everyone else is too shit-faced, as North put it, to properly hold a conversation. 

    There were four bottles of whisky and two large packs of beer and a thing of wine coolers when this all started, so Connor’s a bit worried that, between six people, there is only half a bottle of whiskey and a six spare beers left  (not including the 13 wine coolers poorly hidden on him). That whiskey is supposedly strong, and he has absolutely no clue how much alcohol an adult body can take before bad things start to happen– he was mainly taught about injuries, not drunkenness. He almost doesn’t trust North around this stuff, since she looks the closest to going into a coma and was going back for more more frequently than anyone else.

    With that, a sudden idea pops into his head.

    He still needs to thank Mr. Anderson for talking to Marshal Fowler and everything else he’s done for him, and if what Vanessa said earlier is true, then he won’t be able to get access to any alcohol for a long while, if ever. That’s just not safe, to cut someone with an addiction off that suddenly. It can lead to worse things, and he doubts Mr. Anderson will suddenly start rationing his stash because of the threat of not getting anymore.

    Connor glances to the clock, which glows the numbers “1:07” in bright blue. If this whiskey is really Mr. Anderson’s favorite drink, he shouldn't mind if Connor brings it over this late– or this early– as a quick thank you. Especially so if he isn’t supposed to have this kind of thing anymore, but Connor trusts him with it more than North at this point. He at least should know how to handle his drinking so he doesn’t die of alcohol poisoning, and Connor wouldn’t be surprised if she already has that to a certain degree. Plus there’s the reason he mentioned before, cutting people off cold-turkey is usually harmful.

    Now that he’s finally convinced himself that this is, indeed, what he wants to do, he carefully unloads four bottles of his wine coolers (he wants to bring some back to his bunker to put his fridge because they’re delicious in smaller doses). That makes just enough room for the six beers he stashes in their place. It takes just over ten minutes of doing so, but no one seems to have noticed yet, not even Ritch, who’d surely be giving him a very strange look if he did see.

    Now the trick he wants to use for the whisky bottle (shove it in a pillowcase with a pillow and carry it  _just_  right, so it looks like it’s just a pillow he’s holding) won’t work because everyone is hoarding the pillows, and the bottle is a bit too square-shaped for that. He can’t even use the balled-up-blanket trick because the only two in the room are occupied as well. Hiding it under his jacket would make the whisky bottle clink against the beer and wine cooler ones, and there’s no way to to keep it up in his jacket and look natural at the same time.

    Unless it didn’t need to look completely natural.

    All it would take to get out of the room is tucking it under his jacket, and who is going to be walking down the bunker halls this late at night? Connor highly doubts that there are guards for a hallway filled people whose entire job is batting and killing aliens that destroy cities. The only other people he could think of that could be out at this time are other night owls or deliverers, and he doubts anyone like that will notice or care that he has a bottle, even less so if the label is covered by something to make it less obvious that it’s alcohol.

    Therefore, Connor looks around to make sure that no one is watching– Josh and Ritch are still talking quietly, but Riley is asleep and Vanessa looks about there too, with Markus, Simon, and North following her close behind– then takes three napkins and the bottle and shoves it all under his jacket carefully. He takes two experimental steps towards Ritch to test how loud the bottles are and to tell his brother that he plans to leave. There’s minimal noise as long as he shuffles rather than taking actual steps. He stops right by Ritch, who looks up questioningly at him.

    “I’m gonna head to bed. It’s late.”

    Ritch nods, “Alright. I’ll follow soon. I want to get everyone situated and comfortable before I leave.”

    Connor nods a single time, then turns and leaves with a silently. He keeps his right arm curled around himself carefully– as if he were still cold, despite the jacket– as he opens the door. Again, if Ritch noticed anything, which he must have, then he didn’t say anything. Connor keeps his arms like that until he decides the coast is clear, then pulls out the bottle and napkins, loosely wrapping the napkins around it and holding the covered bottle like he would any old water bottle.

    He passes his own bunker on the way to Mr. Anderson’s, but decides to not go inside to drop off his wine coolers. Even though less bottles would allow him to move more naturally, the time it would take to dig out enough to do so isn’t worth it, since he would like to be back before Ritch. He moves on a bit quicker at the reminder of a time restraint. 

    He hopes that Mr. Anderson is still up, but the chances are low, he thinks. As Connor approaches his lunch companion’s door, he comes up with some kind of plan of where to keep this stash if he won’t wake up or won’t let him inside to unload everything. He doesn’t want Ritch to worry about this, after all.

    He knocks on the door, then waits. The fridge is out of the question for anything except for his own colorful alcohol. Connor tucks the whisky bottle under his jacket carefully and hugs to his chest as he knocks again, not wanting any passerby seeing him with it here. He could put it all under his blanket. Since he’s on the top bunk, it would be difficult to see unless someone climbs up there, and no one would. No one has even been in their room, not unless Ritch brought someone in there without his knowledge, but he’s more protective of his space than Connor is, so he very highly doubts it.

    With no response still, Connor turns to go back to his room. He pulls out and readjusts the bottle and napkins in his hand so it doesn’t slip and keeps his stride casual. He makes it five steps before the sound of a door opening stops him in his tracks.

    “Connor? What the fuck are you  _doing_? It is 1:30 in the morning.”

    He spins around as quickly as he’s silently be able to with the bottles tucked into his waistband, which isn’t very fast.

    “May I talk to you? Inside?” he asks boldly. He notes the other’s disheveled appearance, with the stained shirt and holey sweatpants. 

    “Fuckin’– What?” he shakes his head incredulously. “Could this not wait until a decent time to talk?  _Not_  the middle of the night?”

    Connor nods slowly, “I suppose it can. I just wanted to give you something as my thanks.” he replies genuinely, “It can wait until morning. I’m sorry for bothering you, Mr. Anderson–”

    “Wait a minute.” he interrupts, “What do you mean, ‘give me something as a thanks’? A thanks for what? What’s in your hand?”

    “A private matter that I’d rather not talk about in the middle of a hall.” Connor ignores Mr. Anderson’s last question, “But it can wait–”

    “For fuck’s sake, get in here.” Mr. Anderson turns and disappears behind the door, leaving it open behind him. Connor hears him mutter “not like I was sleeping anyway…” before he makes a move to enter.

    Inside is much cleaner that it was even the last time he was in here. There’s actually space on his desk, there’s only four bottles Connor can spot out in the open, versus the pile there was before. All of the clothes that were once still strewn about everywhere are now in one of two piles, which Connor elects to assume means “not clean” and “unwearable”, based off of Mr. Anderson’s habits and normal wardrobe. He carefully shuts the door behind him and eyes the older man, who’s leaning against the desk tiredly, now. He doesn’t look any more cleaned up, but he looks more tired.

    “You cleaned more.”

    He didn’t mean to say that out loud, and it was definitely the wrong thing to say. Hank bristles up, entirely grumpy and defensive.

    “Yea? And what of it?” he challenges.

    Connor just shakes his head calmly, “Nothing. I’m just glad you won’t be tripping on clothes in the middle of the night. Do you mind if I use your desk for a second?”

    It was a rough topic change, but it’s one that Mr. Anderson takes silently, probably having that same deja vu moment as he is. He simply moves out of the way, overplaying exasperation as he waves to it. Connor nods a silent thanks and walks over, mentally cringing at the feeling of the bottles in his waistband rubbing and clanging together with each step. Apparently Anderson couldn’t tell that he was hoarding the bottles until now because he’s suddenly extremely interested in what Connor has.

    He puts down the whisky first and uncovers it, discarding the napkins on the ground for now. Mr. Anderson is immediately at his side.

    “What the fuck?” he whispers, then continues the same way as if someone will overhear him if he speaks too loud. “Where did you get this? And how? And why the fuck would you bring it here?”

    “I heard that Marshal Fowler suddenly went from barely tolerating your drinking to cutting you off completely,” he answers partially, ever-so-carefully unzipping his jacket to the bottles barely tucked inside the inner pockets don’t slip out and break. “And strictly from a medical view, it’s not healthy to cut off of an addiction like that, so I decided to help out as thanks for talking to the marshal about giving me and Ritch a second chance.”

    He finally has his jacket unzipped, and he slowly pulls out two beer bottles. The one on the left side makes his wine cooler bottle almost fall, so he has to juggle it under his left arm in order so he has time to put the bottle in his right hand down in order to catch it. He then digs out two more bottles and sets them down, realizing there’s no good way about unloading Mr. Anderson’s without making his spill out. 

    “Jesus. How many bottles did you take?” He picks up one of the beer bottles, studying the label.

    “I had 16 bottles on me, plus the whisky–”

    Mr. Anderson’s head snaps to him, “Wait, what?–”

    “–and I think the only bottle people will notice missing is the whisky, since there were only four of those.” Connor pulls out the last beer in his jacket pocket, then starts the process of freeing the one in his waistband, which is going to require taking them all out then resizing the belt. “Oh! And nobody drank straight from that bottle either. They all used small cups, so no need to worry about backwash, even though I guess it wouldn’t really matter with an alcohol percentage that high. And the wine coolers are mine, unless you want a few.”

   “I don’t like fruity drinks.” he answers, staring at Connor as if he has a second head. Connor ignores this easily, it’s a look he’s very used to. 

    He pulls out one of the two beer bottles from under his belt and immediately realizes his mistake. The wine-cooler bottles carelessly tucked in the biggest pockets of his pants are heavily weighing them down, which is going to make everything worse. With a sigh, he pulls the two bottles from the pockets over his calves (People rarely look down when they have somewhere they need to be, so the chances of someone other than Ritch seeing those two and the two lumps in his pant legs from the ones tucked loosely in his nearly-untied boots is lower that others like to think). He then tries to get the bottle out again, but the three in the back are slipping, but if he tries to keep them from falling, then the bottles in the front will fall.

    Realizing how stupid this delema is since it’s  _his_  bottles that are about to go down his pants and not anyone else’s, he simply pulls out Anderson’s bottle and lets the last four in the front drop down his pant legs a bit. He tightens up his belt, then pulls the three bottles from behind and sets those on the desk and tightening his pants some more. He removes the two from in his boots and lets the four wine coolers in his pant legs slip to the ground unharmed. Thank god for the thicker glass these bottles are made of.

    “Jesus fucking christ, you actually had 16 bottles tucked away.” Connor looks up and sees Hank shaking his head in disbelief. “How in the  _fuck_  did you manage that?”

    “Despite what everything thinks of me, I’m not a rule-following teacher’s pet.” He sits on the ground and starts working on lacing his boots properly. “I just make sure that my ‘crimes’ are mostly petty and are done without anyone’s notice.” He ties his left boot on his foot, then smirks up at the ex-pilot. “Like stuffing 17 bottles of alcohol in various places and delivering seven of them to someone who’s supposed to not have them.” He gets back to lacing up his other boot, wanting to leave Anderson alone for the rest of the night.

    “And where the fuck did you get all of this in the first place?”

    Connor quickly finishes tying his boot up, then hops up onto his feet to meet the other’s eyes.

    “Some of Ritch’s and my mutual friends threw a small party– well, if it could even be called that with no entertainment besides alcohol– because we’re allowed to stay!” Connor beams. It feels very strange on his face after so long of being in a panic-like state. “And with the way Marshal Fowler was speaking, it sounds like we’ll be able to graduate as soon as we find partners to pilot with. So that’s what all this is.” He gestures to the bottles, “It’s a thanks for that, because he mentioned in passing that you spoke to him, and he trusts your judgement of people.”

    Connor sees Mr. Anderson’s expression of surprise, and decides against trying to puzzle out if it’s a good version or negative. Therefore, he instead spins on his heal to pick up the wine cooler bottles and stuffs six into this jacket’s inner pockets, and stuffs one in his calf-pocket and is placing one in the other when Mr Anderson finally speaks up.

    “You do realize that you’ll get in big trouble for this if you’re caught. After the paperwork stuff and everything.”

    “Then it’s a good thing I won’t be.” Connor stands again, “I may get anxious or uncomfortable with plenty of things, but these past couple of weeks have been way worse than usual. I’m not normally that fragile or easy to set off. Besides,” he turns and starts loosening his belt to shove the last four bottles in his waistband, “if there’s anything I’m good at, it’s yoga and stealing food and drinks. I’ve had more than enough practice in both areas to feel more than comfortable doing this, Mr. Anderson. I’d even do this again if there’s any advice you can give me on finding a good partner, since that’s obviously one place I’m struggling in.”

    In goes two of the four in his waistband, and Connor’s working the third and last one in because he just now decided to leave out one to drink while going back to his bunker. He doesn’t even feel guilty in the slightest because they’re delicious–

    “Hank.”

    Connor snaps his head up. He’s extremely glad all of his bottles are tucked safely away, because if he was still holding one, he might have just dropped it on the hard floor.

    “I’m sorry?” he asks politely. There’s no way  _the_  Mr. Anderson is asking  _Connor_ , the annoying kid with the fucked up head, to call him by his first name. Especially not since there’s years of age between them.

     _It’s extremely disrespectful to call someone older than you anything other than Miss, Misses, or Mister_ , a familiar voice says in his head.

     _Never judge a person purely based on their age. Some people, like you, are completely mature despite their age still being a small number. Some people, like Howard over there, still act like children even if they’re older than me. Treat a person with a careful balance of how they act and what the social standards require_ , the same voice scolds louder.

    “Look, if you’re still going to bug me during lunch and dinner, and if you’re really serious about doing this–” he waves his hands at the unopened bottles “–again, then I’d rather you just call me Hank.” He sighs and looks away. “Having someone like you and your age call me ‘Mr. Anderson’ makes me feel old and honestly? A little fuckin’ creeped out too. Mister and miss or whatever is reserved for children, and you don’t look like a fuckin’ kid to me.”

    For the first time in a long while, Connor chooses to ignore Amanda’s irritated voice in his head. He’ll only call him Hank because he wants to, and he has a feeling that they’re something he calls “quiet friends”. Friends without stating it and never mentioning as much just for one or both people's sake, but still friends nonetheless. New friends, maybe good acquaintances instead. It doesn’t matter because either way, Connor feels accomplished. He just made his first friend that didn’t tie in to Ritch at all. Probably.

    Connor realizes too late that he hesitated for a tad too long, so he tries to break the tension with a very bad joke.

    “Well then, Hank, you can just call me Connor, now. No ‘Mr. Stern’ necessary anymore.”

    It takes Mr. Ander–  _Hank_  a second to understand the joke that he never once called Connor by his last name before he’s shaking his head and looking to his ceiling.

    “I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?”

    “Most likely. Hopefully it won’t be  _too_ painful, though.” Connor smirks.

    Hank scowls, but Connor swears he can see mirth in his eyes.

    “Just get out of here go to fucking bed before anyone gets any wrong– or right– ideas.” he nods to the door.

    Connor nods, grabs his bottle, and quickly gets to the door. However, he pauses just as he’s about to open it, then turns back to Hank.

    “I won’t be feeding your issue here, Hank. I’m just acknowledging that stopping abruptly like the marshal wants you to is unhealthy. You’ll still need to work on slowing down because I won’t be able to do this very often.” He pauses to see if the ex-pilot has anything to say, and he doesn’t except for a sigh. “Good night, Hank. If, uh, you ever really need sleep one night, I’d be willing to give you a bit of the oil that allowed me to sleep for two days.”

     _Was that only last week? Or was it the week before?_

    “Thank you, Connor. I may take you up on that” He sounds surprisingly genuine, and the trainee can’t stop the small smile from appearing. “Now get out of here before I decide to hate you again.”

    He nods quickly and opens the door, “I hope your night gets better. Remember to ration.” and he shuts the door and untwists the bottle cap to take a drink. It still tastes delicious, but now he’s regretting not saving it for later. He doesn’t know when the next time he’ll be allowed to get more will be, if ever.

 

    The “if ever” is much more emphasized the next morning when Connor sees Markus and crew walk into the training area very hungover. Well, Simon and Josh don’t look as bad, but North is obviously and unsurprisingly the most affected. She squints against the lights of the room and stumbles directly behind Markus, who doesn’t appear to be miserable, but isn’t smiling and chatting along with Josh and Simon like he usually is. North suddenly turns her head and immediately spots Connor.

    “How the fuck are you not miserable?” she shouts across the room.

    She opens her mouth to probably yell again, but Connor quickly stands up from his spot in the corner and quickly moves over to their group so they won’t call anymore unnecessary attention to themselves.

    “I’m not miserable because I kept my drinking under control.” He answers quietly as soon as he’s close enough to. “Besides, isn’t drinking as jaeger pilots against some kind of rules? You guys should start practicing prohibition.”

    “Well,” Simon begins, “lucky for us, we aren’t actually pilots. Only trainees, so we can do what we want for now.”

    “But Ritch and I will be as soon as we find suitable partners, so I don’t expect us to–” Connor’s teasing is interrupted by North.

    “Woah, woah woah woah. You mean to tell me that not only are you guys sticking around, but you’re graduating early too? And you didn’t even tell us? How skilled are you exactly? What the hell...” 

    Connor thought someone who is this hungover would be quieter.

    “Did Ritch not tell any of you last night?” Everyone shakes their head “no”. “Oh... Huh. Well, as soon as we retake evaluations and find partners, we’ll probably be graduating and moving on as pilots.” Connor pauses, “I think that’s kind of a problem, though, because as far as I know, there’s only one more jaeger, and by regulation, each pair needs their own in case of an emergency where every available pilot is needed–”

    “Wow, yup. Already boring me.” North bluntly states.

    Connor makes a mental note to not talk about jaegers and regulations while she’s around. His confusion about this will just be another thing to write down in his journal in his free time later, if he can’t get it out of his head by then, anyway.

    “North!” Markus chides, ”Just because you hate memorizing all of this stuff doesn’t mean everyone does. Leave him be!”

    “Connor’s right, you know.” Ritch’s voice points out from his right suddenly. “About everything. I don’t know what Fowler plans to do with two new pairs and only one known jaeger, unless he has some hidden up his sleeve, but those would be in testing stages now, not available for use quite yet.” He crosses his arms and looks to the side, a tell that Ritch is thinking through something carefully. “The only thing I can think of is that he has one that’s almost out of testing that we just haven’t heard of yet for whatever reason. Or he just didn’t want to miss a chance having two more pilots around here and compromised with someone about this despite only having one available jaeger.”

    Josh nods, shifting his weight onto his other leg, “I think it’s more the second reason than the first. There haven’t been nearly as many people looking to be jaeger pilots since the propaganda stood a chance against the horror stories on the media.”

    Everyone nods their agreement.

    “Either way,” Connor begins, “I don’t actually know how often we’ll see each other outside of meals now. With reevaluations and partner hunting and stuff.”

    “I doubt they’ll keep us out of the class, Connor.” Ritch doesn’t bother to turn and look at him like he would with someone else. “I don’t know if we’ll still be top of the class, since we’ll likely be overqualified for what stage everyone here is at, but I don’t see why Luther and Chloe wouldn’t let us stay and help, even if it isn’t your favorite thing to do.”

    Connor shakes his head with a shrug, “It really isn’t. I don’t like leadership roles like you do.”

    “And I have a feeling Amanda didn’t mind it being that way, but the past is just that, the past.”

    “If you look at and focus to much on the past, you’ll completely miss the future until it’s too late.“ Markus states, “My father used to say that to us all the time, and I agree.”

    “So you gonna show us what you can really do today? Since you were supposedly holding last time.” North changes the subject with a certain glint in her eye.

    Connor doesn’t want anything to do with it, though.

    “No.” he retorts at the same time as Ritch. Everyone goes quiet.

    Connor continues quietly, “Last time was stressful enough for me…”

    “I agree. I don’t like fighting Connor.”

    “The only things I want to fight like that are kaijus and assholes.”

    “Snobbish, biggoted assholes.” Ritch specifies.

    Out of the corner of his eye, Connor spots a few other students entering the training area, so instead of correcting Ritch that he would fight  _any_  asshole if he thought it would make a difference, and have his brother inevitably push back against that, Connor just huffs. Ritch will understand that he means it a show of disagreement, and he does, if his version of an eye roll is anything to go by.

    “Well, I suppose I better go off and try to find some kind of jaeger partner. I’m going to need a lot more time than Ritch because… Well, you all know exactly how I was when we were just beginning to get to know each other.” Connor smiles genuinely. If there’s one thing he can do right, it’s turn his short-comings into jokes or some form of amusement for himself.

    Although, everyone except Ritch smiles awkwardly, so Connor immediately knows that these people don’t really do self-deprecating jokes. Ritch simply frowns, and he takes that as his cue to actually leave. Before he can turn to leave, however, Chloe shouts Connor’s and Ritch’s names. When they look to her, she waves them over with a smile. They say a quick goodbye to the group as they calmly walk over. Connor is painfully aware of all the silent attention they’re getting.

    “Just as Marshal Fowler said yesterday, you need to start reevaluations today. Would you prefer to do them over in the gym, or in here? I can’t promise we’ll have the gym to ourselves, but it may be less crowded than in here.” She says this last part to Connor.

    He looks to Ritch, who gives him a sort of curious and blank look. It’s up to Connor, then. He turns back to Chloe and shrugs with a polite smile.

    “I guess in here is fine. It seems more convenient going all the way there then back again in a few hours.”

    “Are we going to have to do the combat evaluations again? Because I will not fight against Connor again if that’s the case.” Ritch cuts in.

    Chloe blinks, her features turning into a careful balance of blank and attentive. She blinks again.

    “Did you hold back the first time or something?” she half-jokes lightly.

    The only response she gets for several moments is Ritch’s shoulders tensing slightly and Connor looking away nervously. Although, it’s obvious she’s waiting for some kind of verbal confirmation.

    Ritch finally answers quietly, “It’s dangerous for us to not hold back when we’re not aiming to kill.”

    Connor only nods in agreement.

    Chloe sighs, “Alright then, but you won’t have to do that over again.” She flips through her clipboard of papers and marks something down quickly, “So let’s skip to flexibility, okay? Go ahead and line up against the wall.” She nods her head to the area next to the doorway where some basic equipment is.

    They go through the basic stretches. For the sit and reach, they use the block, adjusting the measurements to their size, and start with both legs on it, then just one at a time with the other bent. Ritch does above average, and Connor does extremely well if Chloe’s expression means anything.

    Next is the v-sit, so Chloe has Ritch put his feet against the wall and lean forward down the middle, then lean to each side. It turns out that he’s a bit more flexible on his right side than left because he uses his right side more. He’s then told to bend to the middle and touch his toes, which he does relatively easily. When Connor starts, he foregoes the wall, despite the confused look Chloe gives him, and lets Ritch hold his feet in place while he leans forward. He can almost put his forehead on the floor, and when leaning to either side, he lightly rests it on his knees. Chloe starts marking on her clipboard again, and Connor has to ignore the stares he feels from the other side of the room.

    The rest of the stretches go similarly. Next they stand and touch their toes (Ritch manages to do so, but Connor is able to put his palms flat on the floor and bends his arms), then they move on to the butterfly stretch, calf flexibility test (they both pass this one with flying colors), side bending, and trunk rolls (this is the easiest one for both of them). Before they know it, almost an hour and a half has gone by and they’re done with their official stretches.

    “Hey guys,” Chloe calls the twin’s attention quietly. She continues when both of them look at her. “Do you mind if I do just a couple more stretches? We did the same thing for North and Traci.”

    Connor looks to Ritch, who answers. “Sure, whatever you need.”

    She smiles, “Can you do some lunges?”

    They both nod and get into position. Ritch has to keep his knee on the ground in order to keep his chest up, but Connor has his knee easily up and chest parallel to the ground. Chloe marks something in her book before Chloe tells them to sit on the ground and spread their legs as far as they can go. Ritch raises and eyebrow at Connor for whatever reason before attempting to do the splits. Connor easily does it, then holds the position as he puts his chest to the ground, then sits back up. When Ritch gets up to shift the direction of his legs, leaning into something close to a lunge, Connor doesn’t get completely up, instead just sitting then shifting his legs over. He leans forward towards his knee then, too, just as he taught himself, then sits up, torso perpendicular to the ground and his legs.

    “Surprising,” Chloe states in a praising tone, noting something else down.

    Ritch gets up and smirks down at Connor. He can’t stop himself from smiling back a bit as he gets up too. It’s nice to actually be praised for something that he’s only ever gotten scolded or huffed at for in the past. Now he’s kind of glad he missed this evaluation altogether while he was going through his mood dip. Having to rush off to let the next person go and/or having everyone’s undivided attention would make this nerve-racking, and that’s if he wouldn’t have held back. He thinks he might have, in that situation.

    A sudden wolf whistle from across the room shoves him out of his thoughts.

    “Yass Connor!” North yells obnoxiously, gathering most people’s attention on them, “Show ‘em who’s queen!”

    “North, why are you like this?” Connor shakes his head, feeling his face heat in embarrassment. That question is better than what he actually wants to ask;  _are you still drunk somehow?_

    “Wouldn’t be me if I wasn’t.” She then winks and blows Connor a kiss and a winks, the entire act overplayed and obviously a show of teasing him. Maybe she’s overplaying being okay so people don’t suspect her actual hungover state too much.

    Connor just sighs and shakes his head again, watching Ritch as he does his equivalent of an eye roll.

    “Alright boys,” Chloe says behind them, “do you want to do stamina or strength next?”

    Ritch and Connor glance at each other, then nod simultaneously.

    “We’ll do strength today, if we can do stamina tomorrow?” Ritch answers, the end sounding like a question rather than a reply.

    Their instructor smiles, “That works for me! Let’s go over to the equipment.”

    The rest of their time before lunch is spent doing various strength tests. Some are for the different muscles in their arms, others for their core, then legs, and Chloe threw in one for hip strength at the end, too. She claims it’s because she remembers how the twin’s fight against each other went, and decided that would help with whatever mod-podge technique they have. Chloe gives nothing away about how well they did this time, and they finish just as the rest of the class is finishing up punching techniques with Luther. They’re all released at the same time to go shower before lunch and the afternoon classwork.

    Connor lets Ritch have a shower first and picks up their room a bit. It’s not really messy, just a few stray clothes in a pile on the ground instead of in the hamper, but it gives him a reason to do some very-needed organization in their desk drawers. He spots his journal in the third drawer and suddenly remembers several things from last night and this morning he wanted to write down.

    He writes down North’s hatred for regulation and technical talk. He then adds that he thinks Josh will probably transfer over to the science section of this entire operation, and that North may pair up with Traci if that’s the case. He notes that Traci used to be a dancer and is ranked at least third in their class, if not first or second, so she may be a good partner candidate. With that, he starts writing down everyone’s personality and the likelihood that they’ll leave or their partner will leave, and the probability of them leaving if their partner does. He immediately crosses our five namesjust from this, knowing he could never work well with them, so he moves on to active pilots.

    He writes that Gavin is much more likely to partner up with Ritch than himself, and crosses that name off. Pretty much everyone else he knows of has a partner they work well with, and he needs more information before he can decide how likely they all are with sharing a jaeger with him despite having partners. Even with insufficient data, he knows that the chances are low.

    He makes a quick note of Hank’s supposed favorite whiskey and how Hank used to have a dog and probably still loves them according to Marshal Fowler. He’s finishing jotting down the fact he’s probably Connor’s “quiet friend” while idly wondering if Hank would ever consider getting another dog when Ritch steps out of the bathroom. 

    “You’re writing in that journal again?” Ritch says almost immediately, crossing his arms.

    “Yes, because I’m going to screw up if I don’t, especially now that I need a partner.” He closes his book with a thump.

    “Connor, despite what you think, you really don’t need that.” Ritch sounds softer than usual, and it’s somewhat disconcerting.

    “Yeah, I really do. You’re welcome to read through it if you like.” He makes a point of putting it on the desk. “So far it’s just basic temperaments of different people and the probabilities of them staying to the end.”

    Connor walks past his brother into the bathroom to wash up, reflecting on everything he wrote down, trying to figure out if he missed anything and he doesn’t think that he hasn’t.

     _This is going to be a lot harder than I thought_ , Connor thinks to himself,  _At least I kind of know what I’m looking for now, though. The only problem now is finding this perfect type of person within the next few weeks…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I am so so sorry for the huge delay for this chapter. Life decided to creep up on me and bash me over the head with a bat there for a second, plus I wanted to make some kind of art for my new [TDBU Masterlist](https://dat-fandom-losertown.tumblr.com/post/188116653556/credit-for-this-90s-esque-poster-monstrosity-goes) on tumblr, but now you should be getting updates faster from now on! I’m hoping to get back on a weekly or biweekly update schedule because I have a ton of other things I want to write, but I refuse to until I finish one of my WIPs 😂😅 Also, sorry for the ton of Connor recently, I promise that next chapter will be more Reed900 action!! And with that, I hope you all have a good day/night! Until the next update!
> 
> P.S. I have actually played the bottle game that Connor did. It started at one of my dad’s promotion parties when I was 15, and I wanted to see how many beers I could stash away (I wasn’t going to drink them, yuck) before an adult noticed. My high score is 12, and the only reason it isn’t 14 is because my aunt noticed me retying my boots to secure the bottles in them.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to shout at me on my [Tumblr](https://dat-fandom-losertown.tumblr.com/) too!


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